


Shifting Dreams

by kbvibes



Series: Shifting Dreams verse [1]
Category: CrissColfer - Fandom, Glee RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Sexy Times, crisscolfer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-02-04 07:06:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 55
Words: 184,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1770121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbvibes/pseuds/kbvibes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
<img/></p><p>Sometimes you get so busy working toward your lifelong dreams that you nearly miss out on the most important things in life. Chris and Darren have the world at their feet and everything they have always wanted, except the one thing they have needed most, <i>each other</i>. Deciding to fight for what feels right in a world that couldn't be more wrong, isn't easy, but at the end of the day love is the only dream worth having. Shifting Dreams is the story of how they decide to embrace the love they have always felt for one another, and the joy and consequences that come as a result.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Door - Chris

**Author's Note:**

> This is now a full length CrissColfer relationship story, length currently unknown. First time writing RPF, so please be kind. 
> 
> This is with huge thanks to my beta readers [Lynne](http://stopandimaginelove.tumblr.com/) and [Zinnia](http://innocentzinnia.tumblr.com/) for the cheerleading and advice. Header by the amazing [Heukii](http://heukii.tumblr.com/)! A million thanks, sweetheart!
> 
> Find me on on Tumblr at [Kbvibes](http://Kbvibes.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Just a note: this is a continuing saga based upon canon events. There is no set ending in place right now, and as long as me, my lovely beta/muses, and you the readers are enjoying this ride, it will continue. Thanks for giving this crazy journey a shot.
> 
> Disclaimer: This story is purely a work of fiction. I am in no way affiliated with Chris Colfer or Darren Criss, nor am I stating that anything you read here to be factual, but if our overactive, vivid imaginations got anything right, what a great life!

**“I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul.” -A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens**

 

There are people who enjoy the abrupt surprise of someone showing up at their doorstep on a lazy summer Sunday afternoon unannounced. Even though it was his one day of solitude this week. And there was packing to do, calls to make to the assistant, the fridge desperately needed cleaning out, and a host of other things to do before life knocked again at nine tomorrow morning.

I mean there must be people like that. Right?

He wasn't one, obviously, but then again stepping aside and letting Darren in without anything beyond a cursory "hey" would hardly be the first contradictory action he'd committed around this man.

Glasses and a ratty old sweat-smelling hat carelessly thrown onto the coffee table now obscured the yellow legal pad he had been scribbling on. Not that he would have been able to go back to work now anyway.

He sat on the arm of the couch and just watched, waited. Darren would open his eyes again and explain the reason for just showing up like the ghost of miracles and mistakes past.

Darren just lay there, dark eyelashes against tan skin, and breathed a sigh. He had always been someone whose presence changed the very air of a room he was in. It was a subtle change, but the atmosphere was somehow different with him here. Warmer and more humid. He was sure there was a witty sexual metaphor there, but his mind was too dizzy with questions to pin it down at the moment.

It took six silent minutes of Chris watching Darren's peaceful face, sprawled out and seemingly more at home and comfortable on his couch than he had ever been, before the delayed realization hit him.

Oh, _oh_ that is what this is.

He got up from his perch on the uncomfortable arm of the couch and found a seat in his favorite chair across the room, snagging his notepad and pen back up along the way.

Because there wasn't anything to do or say. Darren had come here just to be. It wasn't something that happened often, not anymore, but there was a time when they lived in one another's back pockets, in sync in a way that they had never even tried to define, or explain away. Days of touch and taste discoveries that coincided with the knowledge that nothing felt better than to bask in the quiet with someone who would never ask questions or more of you than you were able to give.

And maybe now these rare moments were both sweet and sour, representing both accusations and distance and others, in the same too moist breaths as the old “one days” and “rights” and “always”, but the chance to absorb a few seconds of the peace of knowing this other person still existed, still _acknowledged._.. It was hardly something he could deny either of them.

"Do I need to take off?" 

The low question made him jump after the near hour of quiet, afternoon burning on towards evening. Darren's head turned towards him, eyes open now and river water golden brown.

"You're fine," he croaked. In all the ways that mattered.


	2. Door - Darren

He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing here. He knew that at least he should have called first. There could be someone over, someone who isn't _"Just a friend, a good friend, and someone I can actually talk to and look in the eye in public. I'm allowed that much. So calm the Hell down!"_ Chris could have someone over who is even more than that this time, though just the idea makes something twist and knot down in the   
core of his body. It would be allowed, make sense and God only knows that Chris would deserve it, and he would understand in the logical part of his brain, while the other hemisphere turned to nothing but a swirling gray and red haze of jealousy and wrongness.

Darren reached up and snatched the frayed baseball cap he had owned since college off his head to twist the bill in his nervous hands. Fuck it, he was already here. The worst that could possibly happen is Chris might have someone here, or be busy, and would send him away, right?

Yeah. And that wouldn't shatter a part of him so irreparably that he'd never feel quite whole ever again. No, totally wouldn't.

Shoving the hat back down on his head to cover his hair, (because one could never be too careful!) he starts up the drive. If he thought any more about it, some of the stupid measures they have always gone to would seemed ludicrous. Because showing up in this car with a faded UMich hat on sure does _a lot_ to make it look _less_ like he is doing exactly what he is currently doing.

He doesn't use the fancy intercom buzzer, he raises his fist and gives the wooden door four solid knocks. Chris will just look and see who it is on the video screen anyway. He hears the muffled sound of unhurried footsteps and... barking?

Oh right, he still isn't used to there being a dog. Poor Brian, little guy must have had his world totally rocked.

Darren should have thought to bring him something. He has never been above buying love.

It feels like the longest fifteen seconds of his life as he waits, knowing there is only a two inch thick wooden door between them. Well, only a door, a few hundred secretive nights, and the expanse of every single emotion he has ever known himself capable of feeling... but right now, just a door.

And then there he is, the barefoot, blue jeaned personification of everything he never knew he would always want, and accidentally allowed himself to have. Just staring back and blinking at him puzzledly from behind his glasses.

A quiet "Hey" stumbled out alongside his own "Uh, hi."

God, he feels like he is calm and home for the first time in a fucking. month. Being so far away, metaphorically if not physically, his place is only about twenty five miles, has worn on and aged him like a sickness, a slow-killing disease. They can't, he can't, go for this long again, it is just too much. There is a bone tired weariness that settles over him like a soaked blanket, and he nearly collapses down onto the couch. Here and now Darren can breathe, so he does.

"Do I need to take off?"

"You're fine."

And he is, for once he actually is. Everything inside him feels warm and quiet, all the worried buzzing silenced and still.

There is everything in the world to say, and he will, eventually he will, but right now he just closes his eyes and sinks down into the couch cushions and breathes because he can, because he is here and Chris opened the door.


	3. Kiss - Chris

Being an actor, seeing yourself on a screen take on the actions and mannerisms of another person, never stops being fucking weird. He tries valiantly to avoid that particular form of narcissism whenever possible. He'd rather watch bikini clad women wrestle each other in a blow-up pool filled with jello than watch himself actually. But at times it's unavoidable. Chris sees so little of himself in Kurt sometimes that it's almost laughable. Maybe it is precisely because he is looking at himself, but it seems different for the others. He can see glimpses of the authentic people he knows and cares for peeking out through their character. He catches glimpses of it in a roll of Amber's eyes, or a tired spastic twitch in Darren's shoulders. But from himself? Nothing.

Maybe he should take that as an unspoken compliment to his own masterful skill as a performer, but he doesn't. It's just that Kurt seems so cool and composed in a way that he never actually feels from within his own life. Especially in the moments where your conscious mind cuts out and it is only flesh, and feeling, and wants in the driver's seat. Watching Kurt and Blaine kiss on the television screen it's... nice. It's sweet. Pretty, even.

When he finds himself crowding Darren down into an uncomfortable looking scrunch into the corner of his couch, face held too tightly between both of his hands, it isn't pretty. They don't kiss sweetly at all. It always starts like this. Chris just dives in over and over again to red lips and and scratchy hair and warm skin in harsh, wet presses that don't usually end up on Darren's mouth at all. He mouths at his chin, bottom lip, the side of his nose, while Darren just sits there, face gone still and pliant, letting Chris suck and bruise his skin all that he wants. They inhale the same too harsh breaths, while Chris reaffirms the statement of what they're doing, who they are and always have been, with his mouth against Darren's cheek.

No matter who he has ever kissed, scriptedly and awkwardly on a soundstage, excited and curious after meeting a very cute older guy at a concert, angry and maliciously knowing fully well that Darren can _see_ at a party he had never wanted to go to in the first place, no matter who or where, Chris has never kissed anyone else like this. Defiant and consuming, daring anything to come in and try to pull them away from this pocket of time they've allowed themselves. Tomorrow he will probably consider it a moment of weakness, but right now all he wants to do is drown in how right it feels to be tasting the soft groans rumbling out of Darren's throat.

No matter who has come before, or will after, when those green golden eyes blink slowly open below him, Chris knows that it will never be like this with anyone else. You only get one absolute everything.

"Stay tonight."

"Wha- Yeah, yes."

It isn't pretty, but they never are.


	4. Puppies - Chris

"Aren't you cold down there?" Chris can't deny that he is appreciative of the view, but still.

Darren sat on the tiled kitchen floor in nothing but a scowl and a pair of borrowed heather gray boxer briefs, rolling a tennis ball across the room in the general direction of Chris's sleeping dog. Cooper paid him no mind, drowsily watching his owner prepare a ridiculously tall stack of grilled ham and cheese sandwiches at 2:30 in the morning. Dinners had been skipped, appetites had been worked up. He'd scorched the last two nearly black watching the pale material stretch impossibly tighter around the shape of Darren's ass when he would crawl across the floor to retrieve the ball himself with a heavy over dramatic sigh.

"This dog hates me."

Chris rolls his eyes and turns the burner off, somewhat satisfied that they won't eat more than six sandwiches between them. "He doesn't know you," he explains setting the plate of sandwiches down on the counter and looking down at Darren's heartbroken pout. "Leave him alone. Eat."

Darren accepts the grilled cheese Chris hands down to him, and immediately tears a price of the crust off the edge to offer to the half asleep dog. "Here buddy."

"Stop it," poking Darren in the ribs with his big toe, Chris uses his foot to try and shove his stubborn friend slash lover slash everything good and confusing in the world, away from the pup. "He has food Darren. He shouldn't eat this, in fact neither should we." The effect of the chastisement is probably somewhat ruined by the fact that he had a small gob of melted cheese stuck to the corner of his own smirking mouth.

"Least the cat loves me."

Darren's body looks stupidly good when he stretches up to his feet with a low groan, rumpled perfect, loose and relaxed like he always was after sex. No one should be allowed to look like the living embodiment of sin and a sleepy little boy at the same time, it wasn't fair.

"What made you decide to up and get a dog all of a sudden, anyhow? Thought you weren't 'a dog person'?" The question is casual as can be in its tone, even as Darren leans in close close, just too close and thumbs the bit of cheese from the corner of Chris's lower lip with a grin.

Well it certainly wasn't because Chris had started to desperately miss the presence of a large, warm, overly affectionate animal around his home, constantly in his personal space these past few silent months. It had nothing at all to do with large, round, dark eyes pleading with him for his attention, and giving back unconditional understanding sweetness, asking nothing else in return.

"Just felt like it. Now eat, I'm tired."


	5. Hide - Darren

He’s been doing it for so long that Darren scarcely remembers what it was like to have nothing to hide. That kind of life existed once, long ago, back in the dark ages of freedom, kissing pretty girls and boys, lots of liquor, laughter, music and sunlight.

He wouldn’t go back though. Hell, he _couldn't_ go back. The person he was now was so intrinsically different from the kid he had been before that he wasn’t sure he could breathe the same sort of oxygen as he did before there were secrets to protect and images to keep. 

Plus going back might mean erasing the memories of everything since. He’s read a lot of sci-fi, he knows how that shit works. And if there is even a possibility of not remembering everything, losing even one of the nights or touches or smiles he had been gifted, then no. Fuck that. He’ll keep his heaviness, thank you..

His angel isn’t generous with those. Darren isn’t giving any away.

Not even if it’s Chris himself who wants him to.

He knows what they all want. He isn't blind to what it will cost him, this free ride to the top. It's a golden ticket that he will be expected to pay for in a currency of hiding and denying. Hiding what he has done, denying himself the life he wants. 

But God, it had all sounded so easy in theory. His five year contract, his album finally out, distribution deals and a proper tour. It would be the product of nearly six years worth of songs and late night recording sessions. Not to mention his lifelong dream... And all he had to do was play his part and be their star. 

Who wouldn't have jumped at that?

He didn't know then, he had no idea. So why are they still dangling a carrot on a string in front of his face? And why is he so damn tempted to sign his name on the dotted line all over again?

How can one person want two things so much? Is having two dreams really that bad? Is he just an enormous asshole for wanting it all?

He wants out, he wants to be free and be happy like anyone else, but at what cost? And if he did take the jump, told the whole world where to shove their superstar and their expectations, would there even be anyone there to catch him before he hit the rocks below? 

Darren thinks so, he always has. But to actually jump without being 100% sure of how he'd land? Shit.

He knows what Chris will say, how stupid it would be to walk away and let himself pay those consequences for what? Darren has worked too hard and come too far to throw it all away now. It's not like they would even be...

Except then maybe they would, at least they _could_. For the first time, they could try. Openly and without all the bullshit. If they let themselves, that is. It would be the one thing they hadn't ever tried to be for one another, and maybe that would make all the difference.

Darren's head falls back against the headrest. He'd been sitting outside Chris's house, again, for a while now. Leaving the other man asleep and gorgeous on the bed had been hard, trying to make himself put the key into the ignition to crank up and drive away.

The buzzing and dizzy circles in his head had returned as soon as he was far enough away that his ears could no longer pick up the soft snores coming from Chris's bedroom as he tried to sneak out with the sunrise. He doesn't know what he is going to do, or even how his life had led him to this point, or if he is strong enough to make these kind of decisions. All he knows is how damn badly he wants to tear out of the car and run back inside.


	6. Ring - Darren and Chris

It may be a dick move, but Darren can't help himself. Chris falls asleep so much quicker and more deeply than he does, and there seems to be so few nights left before they'll be separated by miles and pretenses again. He just can't not. He rolls over knocking his leg against Chris's, wriggling around on his stomach and making a loud snuffly groan into the pillow. It takes three exaggerated body flips before he successfully wakes his angel up. A heavy arm falls across his waist from behind, dim light spilling in from under the bedroom door glinting off a ring that he knows could never be more visible than a ghost. Chris was going to kill him in the morning. Grinning into his pillow Darren goes back to pretending to be asleep with his own silver ring slipped onto the hand of the person that he wishes could always wear one. 

\----

Chris doesn't remember having spooned up against Darren's back during the night, but when the dog starts whining to go out sometime shortly before dawn that is exactly where he is. His sleepy dazed limited consciousness allows him to comprehend that much, and that he had just spent a second unplanned night in bed with the guy that he knows he shouldn't want, but he probably always will. He isn't awake enough to realize that Darren had stealthily slid his wide silver ring onto Chris's hand after he had passed out, or to give much thought to how this time they had actually only slept in the bed together, and how that was in a way even better than what they had gotten into the night before. He is only aware enough to know that Darren was still here with him, and that he was unquestionably happy.

He selfishly allows himself five minutes of stillness with his forehead planted against the back of Darren's knobby shoulder blade, before paying heed to the pathetic whining and scratching coming from just outside the door in the hallway. Chris briefly glances at his phone laying on the other side of the bed face down on his nightstand. Yes, it wasn't even quite seven in the morning, but he does pay... "Okay, Coopie, okay." He slips out of bed, tugging the comforter up over Darren's rising and falling chest. It isn't until he is tugging last night's wrinkled jeans up his legs that he notices the ring. He freezes in place, pants partially up his thighs and stares at it in the gray light of his bedroom.  
What in the... Another loud scratch, this one possibly about to gouge the wood, tears him from his thoughts. "I'm coming," he hisses, hurriedly zipping up and heading out of the door before the dog wakes Darren up. They'd talk about this later.

Twelve minutes later, to be exact and Chris entered his bedroom to find a grumpily pouting man hugging both pillows now in the middle of the bed. "You have an assistant for that, you know."

He may or may not giggle quietly to himself when he walks into his bathroom to wash his hands.


	7. Unstoppable - A Friend

How do you explain something that doesn't have a name, or defend your reasoning for something that you are well aware is probably completely unreasonable and has ended up badly for you more than once. More than five times, actually. So when he stands in his doorway faced with his friend's all too knowing (she knows his car, and that Chris wouldn't be in bed after eleven on Tuesday usually...) and concerned face, it doesn't make him upset, he gets it. She is disappointed. 

It has been her job for years to look out for him. She had been around to see him with tears of frustration running down his cheeks and shaking fists at the fucking unfairness of it all. She had been witness to more than one of their screaming and accusation shouting matches, Darren with his hands wildly pulling at his own dark hair _"What do you want me to do here, Chris? You know that I don-" "Just leave then! GO! Do whatever you want like you always do."_ When Chris's heart is broken and bleeding, you can't help but feel an echo of the pain within your own chest.

But she had also turned a blind eye to the many nights she had seen them asleep, wound around one another like vines on a couch, and how Chris's eyes never looked more green than they did when he was laughing at him. Around Darren is one of the few times she has seen Chris, who she loves like family, actually look and act like the boy he still is. Darren’s smile, his presence, lights Chris up from the inside and slows down his ever-burning mind to a simpler and safe level like no one else's. With the lives they both lead, it is hard to fault them for that.

So it is without judgement, only deep concern over what it will mean for them both, that she smiles awkwardly and asks him to please not turn off his phone for so long. People worry. And yes, he still has to get himself to the airport by three on Thursday. She doesn,t question him, ask where the other man is or what he thinks he is doing. Once those two are within their private orbit of each other there is no more stopping them than there is a runaway train. They will soar and speed through the world together, and it is more than likely they will crash. She just squeezes Chris's arm and lets herself out. There is not much she wouldn't do for that boy, but she can't protect him from this. More importantly, he doesn't want her to. No one can stop whatever him and Darren are going to do to one another this time.

No one ever could.


	8. Space - Chris and Darren

It took them almost 48 hours to find a reason they couldn't talk themselves out of to fully dress and leave the house. The reason: onion rings. Chris mentioned it in an offhanded way while they hunted through the unstocked kitchen and the mutual craving set in. So it was as they sat in Darren's car (darker tinted windows) outside a nearly empty diner with sodas and greasy take out that Darren had broached the subject. His contract, the years left on it, and what it would mean for him. Chris wasn't new to the business, he knew what the stipulations were like for himself and for others, but Darren's case was different. If Chris decided that he didn't like the way he was being handled and represented he could walk away. They didn't have anything to hold over his head, nothing to hold hostage to get him to jump through hoops and perform tricks. In fact he was adamantly opposed to the image shaping, twist and turny side of the industry, and swore he would never let himself become a pawn in the game.

Boy, had he ever been a naïve little bastard.

Still, Chris would have the chance to cut away and make a clean break of it if he wished to. It was an opportunity he had never really appreciated until Darren. 

Darren who tapped beats against his denim-clad thighs while he waited for his turn in a makeup chair, and kept a notebook of song lyrics in every room of his house, the car, trailer, two old ones in a drawer in Chris's own house. His music was as much a part of him as his stupid hair or goofy grin. There were melodies that flowed through his veins in between the platelets and plasma. It was an undeniable part of his soul that Chris knew he would protect with his life. So hearing Darren even contemplate the idea of walking away from his deal and management and that it would mean losing the rights to the hours and hours and of music that he had poured every spare moment into for the past few years, it felt as wrong as sitting on a bed of tacks.

"You can't do that. They own your album, Dare, your songs. Your real stuff, not the bubblegum shit they made you play last year. They _own_ you if you walk away from your deal now, and I can't let you do that. If you are going to be a dumbass, I have to think it through for you. No, no way."

"So you're going to be like them? You going to make this decision for me too, Chris?"

He knew what the freedom to be out from under the weight of his secrets and expectations would mean to Darren, but to have the question posed to him like that, it was jarring. He would never ask Darren to give up what he had worked so hard for, no one had the right to do that as far as Chris was concerned, but was it just as wrong to ask Darren not to? To carry on the song and dance that had broken parts of them both already?

Neither had much to say on the drive back to the house. Chris honestly expected Darren to drop him off in the driveway and leave right away, but to his relief Darren hopped out of the car without seeming to give it a second thought. Once inside he watched him toe off his shoes by the door and reach down to scratch the cat behind the ears.

"I'm gonna go grab a shower." Darren's smile that he flashed Chris was mostly sincere, but his earlier question weighed on both their minds.

Flopping back onto the couch, Chris sat and stared at the blank TV screen without any thought of turning it on. His mind was, unsurprisingly, full of thoughts of the complicated man who without checking, he knew would have bypassed the guest bathroom upstairs to use the one in Chris's room instead. Darren, who smiled even when the weight of the eyes of the entire world was on him. As intelligent of a human being that he considers himself to be, Chris can't comprehend why so many people would go so far to change who Darren was. He was light, and music, and energy, a magnetic field that drew in anyone close to him and without even trying, made their day better just because he'd taken the time to smile at them. He was both the most talented person, and the most genuine soul Chris had ever met, yet people thought that who he is was a dirty secret that must be hidden away and disguised at all cost. It just didn't make sense. Chris knew that while his approach to was to observe and analyze the world, Darren just ran out into the chaos of life and _loved_ so hard.

More years of lessening that? Hiding this man behind a polished, acceptable, Hollywood plastic façade? 

Chris scrambled for his phone without letting his rational mind talk him out of it. He pressed the third number on his speed dial. "Hey, it's me. Yeah, yeah he's still here. No, I don't want to... I'm not... Look, I need to cancel the meeting in New York. No, no! I have to. Please," he ran an agitated hand through his already messy hair as the high pitched voice on the other end of the call lectured into his ear. "I'm sorry, really. But there's something that I... Wait, I also need a favor. I need to rent a car." He heard her cut off in mid speech and draw in a breath, his eyes flickering up to the ceiling in the spot where he knew Darren was showering just above him. "A little trip, not sure yet. There's... stuff we have to figure out."

\----

Darren stands under the hot water without moving for several minutes. The fact is, he knows that he probably needs to head home soon. He'd been with Chris for over two days without telling, checking in with anyone, or giving much thought to anyone else. He wonders briefly if they have sent out a search party yet. Though it wouldn't be too hard to figure it out when he disappears, certainly wouldn't be the first time it has happened. Plus he doesn't put it past his team to have his car rigged with GPS. Seems like something they'd do. Chris had always had a way of making him one track minded like that. All he had to do was look into those insane eyes of his and it was like everything and everyone else just suddenly seemed _less_. It had been like that since the very beginning, people, work, rules, none of it was anywhere near as interesting or more beautiful than this guy. It was the ultimate distraction, and he would just lose himself. Maybe that was part of the problem. Chris made him distracted and sloppy, too open and relaxed and willing to be _himself_.

Still two days was two days, and he knows how busy Chris always is. He didn't ask Darren to just show up at his door and monopolize his life like this. He should just get dressed and tell him that he needs to get home... but fuck he doesn't want to. Despite Chris's less than enthusiastic reaction to the subject he had brought up earlier, being here and being around Chris in a comfortable environment, not to have to be watched and guarded, was just so _good_. It is so easy when they are like this, they fall back into familiar patterns like there has never been anything else. Having the freedom to laugh, and touch, and talk about complete bullshit again, it was the best he had felt in so long. If he let himself think about it, he'd be able to pretty accurately guess how long. A few months. Since they had both mutually decided to give each other "space" outside of work. There were still small stolen moments, his last birthday to celebrate, late night phone calls, but they had honestly tried to give each other space and room to breathe and think without the overwhelming press of _them_ making things heavier. But what was so great about space, anyhow? All it seemed like to him was lonely. 

He doesn't want to go back to "space", and an empty house, and friends that are _less_ , and work that is _less_ , and his life that doesn't seem even half as alive as the last two days have been. 

But Chris has a life, an insanely, jam-packed busy life, other friends, associates, and a full world outside of-

"Darren?"

_Speak, well no, think of the devil..._ "Yeah?" he yells back over the noise of the shower, wiping shampoo suds off his forehead.

It takes Chris a while to respond. "Do you have anything to do in the next couple of days?"

He does, not that he is going to say that. Does Chris want him to stay? _Please please want him to stay._ "Nothing big. Why?"

This time the pause is even longer. Darren counts at least twenty of his own suddenly too loud heartbeats. "Well, this city sucks during summer, you know that. Too many tourists, and it's hot as balls. It’s almost my birthday and so I was thinking that it might be good to get out of town. We could get a car, and maybe drive up the coast, or someth-"

Chris's sentence is abruptly cut off when the bathroom door that he was leaning back against suddenly flies open. He would have fallen backward onto his ass if not for the very wet, very naked body standing directly behind him and the still soapy arm that flashes out to grasp his shoulder and steadies him. Darren half pulls Chris around to face him, eyes wide and amber gold in the afternoon sunlight. "Seriously?" Darren searches Chris's face for some sign of this being a joke or that he had somehow misinterpreted the situation and Chris really wanted him to puppy-sit or some shit, but all he got was a small mischievous grin and raised eyebrow.

"Well, you'll probably need clothes, dummy. Plus, you left the shower on. But why not, let's just mmmph!"

Instead of letting him finish whatever the end of his smirky comment may have been, Darren presses his own mile wide grin against Chris's lips, and backs him up against the marble counter leaving no space between them.


	9. Come Together - Darren and Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mature content begins in this chapter.
> 
> As always, a huge thank you to Lynne (klainecrisscolferwilsonlove) and Zinnia (green-zinnia) for the support and encouragement. You are both lovely beyond words.

It was somewhere along Highway 1, just shy of the state park, that Darren realized that drawing out this time with Chris from two days to four wasn't going to be nearly enough. Fourteen days wouldn't be, the same goes for four hundred. The fact was he wanted to be able to have this man in the driver’s seat next to him, both literally and figuratively, for as long as he walked this earth. It wasn't that he hadn't thought it before, God, _hundreds_ of times, but now he knew it. The thought and need was now cemented into his mind and there wasn't a jackhammer out there strong enough to dislodge it. This was it, he was ready to have this.

Chris and he had been too much, too soon, too strong when they’d met, and neither of them had been ready for it. They had been kids, wide eyed and confused by everything, looking to other people to tell them what to do with what was happening. To say they got the wrong advice was the understatement of a lifetime, but there wasn't much to do about that now. All he could do from here on out was try to find a way to show Chris that he was ready for them to give it an honest try, and accept whatever repercussions that would come along with it. The words, in theory, weren't that scary: Out. Gay. Beard. Boyfriend… Okay, maybe they were a little scary. But they weren't kids anymore, it was way past due for them to take control of their own lives and make the not so easy decisions for once. 

Problem was, he would have to convince Chris of it too.

As subtlety as possible, he glanced at Chris out of the corner of his eye. Just barely smiling and relaxed as he drove down the winding old coastal highway in the rented nondescript blue Acura. Darren had told him at the lot to get the blue one because red cars made you look like a pretentious asshole, but really he’d just always loved what the color blue did for Chris’s skin, something he’d seen a lot of in the last three days but nowhere near enough. The man was beautiful, you couldn't argue that, but it was the ideas and words and laughs and strength that made Chris the person he was. He was the bright spark of the light across the top of the waves while the rest of the world was just plain old sea water. Darren didn't know how he got lucky enough to be that drop of water that floated to the top to be touched by that blinding light, but he wasn't going to let the tide passively draw him away again. 

Chris took one hand off the wheel to shove at his shoulder without taking his eyes off the road. “Stop.”

Maybe not so subtle then. Fine.

“Ready to stop and get some food?” He asked, turning the radio down. They had only been driving for a couple of hours, but it always made Darren antsy to see so much green and sand and sun and water and just be stuck inside a box of metal and glass. He needed to get out and be in this world that held so much, maybe more today than ever before. He could have already seen a sight a thousand times, but with Chris beside him it was something new and magical in a way that it hadn't been before and couldn't be with anyone else. There wasn't much that he didn't wish he could see through this man’s eyes. Shit, he was so far gone…

“Sure,” Chris shrugged one shoulder, flicking his eyes in Darren’s direction. The older man was shifting in his seat like an agitated toddler. “Next place we come to.”

The next place happened to be a beach-side bar and grill just past the border of San Simeon. They chatted idly over their grilled chicken fajitas and chips, and then took two iced teas to go. 

“Called your folks yet to tell them you’re coming up?” Chris asked as they strolled slowly down the gray colored weathered wood of the boardwalk, staring out over the few families and surfers enjoying the beach. In what was now a simple force of habit, Chris had pulled on a hat and darkly tinted sunglasses before they had left the car. Darren, in the world’s most passive aggressive attempt to solidify his decisions, went without, nothing more to hide who he was from any curious eyes than the month’s worth of black hair across the lower half of his face.

Darren looked at Chris with a sarcastic smirk. “Have _you_?” He wasn't the only one of them who could be considered a parental avoider, even if Chris’s current family situation was a great deal more strained than his own. Darren just didn't want to be hovered over. He knew Chris wouldn't easily get away with not letting his parents know they were heading up to the Bay area for the weekend. Chris thought Darren’s mother was the cutest thing in the world. Cuter than Darren in fact. And how was _that_ fair?

“Call.” Chris suddenly knocked his hip against Darren’s roughly as they walked, making him stumble over his feet. Chris grinned and turned to grab the railing that ran alongside the boardwalk. Chris calmly studied the waves, Darren studied him. 

“What are you doing after?” He suddenly asked before he could stop himself.

Chris looked back at him. “After eating your mom’s cooking? Probably eating half a bottle of Tums.”

“After this weekend, smartass.” Chris looked surprised by the question. Not half as surprised as he was going to be once he heard the rather brilliant idea that just popped into his mind.

\----

Darren had just blurted out the idea like it was no big deal, as casually as if he were suggesting they grab ice cream before getting back on the road. If Chris was anyone else, who knew his expressions any less, he would have thought that the idea had really just come to him as they stood there looking out over the waves. But Chris wasn't anyone else, and he could see the strain and genuine _want_ in Darren’s eyes as he rambled on about his idea, one he had clearly given a lot of thought to.

“The apartment’s near Bayswater. It’s been ages since my parents have even visited the place. It’s out of the way, quiet, but still close enough to the city that getting to work wouldn't be an issue. I know how you feel about hotels, so don’t tell me that the idea isn't tempting.”

Chris had opened and closed his mouth like a fish a few times, faltering over the words, before Darren swallowed hard and went on.

“It’ll piss people off, but shit, Chris. They can’t exactly tell you _no_. You’re a big boy, and since you have to be there anyway, it’s entirely up to you where you want to stay. You have work, and I need time to sort myself out on what to do from here. So why not do it together? See what trouble we can get into in between. You’ll have pre-production stuff for what, a week? Two? Just come check it out and see if you like it. If you do, you know it’s yours for as long as you need it. Look, don’t decide anything right now. Just… think about it, all right?”

 _Think about it?_ All Chris had done for the next three hours as Darren took his turn behind the wheel was think about it. This was more than just a three or four night sleep over/hook up they were talking about here. This was staying together, living together, if even just in the short term. The idea had the potential to either make or destroy them, either way there was no way that it wouldn't permanently change their ever unnamed dynamic. 

It made perfect sense for Darren to want to get away from Los Angeles for a while to take the time to figure out what he wanted to do about the offers and demands being thrown at him. He isn't even surprised that he would choose the place to be the ideal hideaway. If given the choice, Chris would probably have chosen the very same. But this was more than that. Darren could literally go anywhere in the world if he wanted to escape the pressure for a little while.This would be Darren going there, now, because of him. _For_ him. For them to be together far away from all of the people and reasons that constantly remind them that they shouldn't be. 

His people wouldn't just be against the idea, they’d be furious. Chris has never stayed apart from his close-knit team when he traveled for business like this. What Darren was proposing would be the literal definition of mixing business with pleasure, and he was conscious of all of the many ways that it could blow up in their faces.

Neither of them fumbled to make conversation for the duration of the drive, Darren knowing Chris would be mulling over the idea in his mind, Chris being grateful to him for the time to think. It wasn't a heavy or oppressive silence, just charged with the energy of all that this could mean for them both. Actually Darren seemed lighter, the curve of his full lips warmer, with each minute that passed since he blindsided Chris with the offer. He knew that this would mean so much more than just a private place to stay during his upcoming trip, this was Darren holding out his hand and asking Chris to take it and see what would come of that once and for all. 

They made it as far as Palo Alto before deciding to grab a hotel room for the night before heading into the city to see Darren’s parents and make a day out of exploring some of the brightest spots of his hometown the following day. Chris was nearly as in love with the vibrancy and colors of San Francisco as Darren was, and no one played tour guide better. They had made the trip together twice before, and each time it had been filled with excitement, food, music, and sloppy cocktail flavored kisses hidden underneath hats, glasses, and hurriedly locked doors. 

They had an early dinner at a small steakhouse a block away from the hotel, splitting a bottle and a half of a nice Italian red, before walking tipsily back to their room. The evening was warm, and the summer air and wine buzzed through their veins making every brush of their shoulders and each of Darren's easy grins soothe Chris's mind and nerves down to a peaceful warm place. Once they were back to the room it felt like the most natural thing in the world to push Darren down onto one of the double beds and fold himself down onto the other man's lap. He gripped onto Darren's shoulder with one hand to balance himself while he fisted a hand into the thick tangle of his hair, pulling his head back so that Chris could bite a smile against the coarse growth of his beard. He had always loved how the scratch of it felt against his lips and cheeks when Darren let himself grow out during the summer, the dark shadow of it so much more naturally _Darren_ than all of his hair being shaved and waxed into submission. He shivered as both of Darren's warm hands slid up the line of his spine to his shoulder blades under his shirt, skin sparking and tingling at the contact. 

"So glad we did this."

Chris leaned in to press their mouths firmly together, tongue delving in to taste wine and Darren and man. "Hmm you most certainly will be in a minute," he promised with a grin, before climbing off Darren's lap to retrieve the gray small box and bottle from the side zipper compartment of his overnight bag.

They spent an hour enjoying the feel and taste of each other's bodies in the way that only two people who have committed all of themselves to memory over time can. It was playful and sexy in a more mature and easy way then Chris could remember it being before. And when he had pushed himself as deeply into Darren's body as possible and let the world narrow into hot flashes of white light behind his eyelids, he felt it when Darren who was laying bonelessly and spread out on the mattress beneath him, drew their intertwined hands in close to his face to press against the side of his sweaty cheek.

After the closeness unpleasantly turned into just drying come, lube, and sweat, Chris got up to trash the condom and wet a white hotel hand towel in the bathroom sink to clean them both off. He came back to see Darren kneeling in the small space between the beds, plugging in the docking station for his iPod. Chris threw the towel at him with a grin, hitting him in the back with it. He drew the thick multicolored bedspread off of the clean bed, and settled back onto the cool sheets just as the chords of an old Aerosmith song began to stream out from the small speakers at a low volume. Chris let his eyes slide shut, enjoying the feel of the room's air-conditioning against his flushed skin. Without opening his eyes, he was able to mentally track Darren’s movement across the room as he cleaned himself up and threw the towel into the corner of the bathroom floor. He felt the bed dip beside him and couldn't help the small contented grin that pulled at the corners of his lips as he felt the heavy heated weight of a body settle half across his torso, arm propped up on top of his chest and a muscled thigh pressed tight against his own leg. Darren’s lips pressed a single kiss to the soft valley between two of his ribs before he wriggled into a sweet spot next to him with a non verbal noise of approval. 

Chris might have dozed off, might not have, he honestly wasn't sure, as the evening leaked away into night. The music had become a quiet hum of background noise, a distant layer that laid buried underneath the soothing sound of Darren’s even breathing. So it made him jump to feel the shake against his own chest as Darren began to laugh quietly. It took a minute for it to dawn on him. 

_Here come old flat top, he come grooving up slowly…_

“Oh you have _got_ to be freaking kidding me.”

Darren began to laugh freely and loudly then, shaking them both where they lay tangled up together. He tried to sing along to a few lyrics but gave up when his voice broke into gaspy laughter after only a couple lines when Chris tried to shove him off of him with a grin of his own. 

“Fucking ridiculous,” he muttered. Darren clamored over the top of him, grabbing at Chris’s arms and holding them down pressed into the bed at his sides. 

“If that isn’t a sign from the universe I don’t know what is.” He moves in and runs the bridge of his nose around the shell of Chris’s ear. “You don’t ignore direct messages from Lennon and McCartney, babe. It’s a universal law.”

“Says who?”

“Ask anyone.”

Chris feels the pull in his core as his dick begins to take interest in the way Darren suddenly shifts more of his weight onto Chris’s lower body. His arms pull free from Darren’s loose grip to wind around his small waist, aligning their half hard cocks between them. “Remind me later,” he breathes into Darren’s open and inviting mouth.

As Darren takes full possession of the kiss, Chris’s hands explore the furred soft skin stretched over rolling muscle of Darren’s thighs. The way the man moved his hips against Chris’s body was nothing short of dancing, his movements fluid and purposeful with the goal of waking every nerve ending where their skin touched. Chris molded both hands over the firm globes of Darren’s ass and dug his fingertips into the flesh, yielding and pliable and perfect. He couldn't help but seek out the humid heat in between and begin to prod at the reddened give of Darren’s hole. He was still sensitive and slightly stretched from before, and Chris’s fingertips sought out the softness inside on their own accord. Darren grunted softly into Chris’s neck at the nearly dry push, but still spread his legs wider around Chris’s waist and began to push back against the two fingers that just barely breached his rim. Chris’s mind was hazy and everything aside from that warmth and squeeze around his fingers blurred away, causing him to press deeper and Darren to hiss out at the intrusion. 

“Sorry,” he gasped into the softness of Darren’s hair, pulling back immediately.

“‘S okay.” Darren’s voice was a quiet murmur. He lifted his head to blink up at Chris through unfocused eyes. He reached back and took Chris’s wrist into his hand, drawing it away from his ass and pulling those same long fingers up and into his mouth. 

The feeling of the heat, wetter and slicker now, made Chris squench his eyes closed as Darren ran his tongue all around and in between the fingers of his right hand. It was a shame to miss the visual of those red lips stretched around his fingers, but the sight would have been a bit too much for Chris to take at the moment. Once they were as thoroughly soaked as possible, Darren released Chris’s wrist and let his spit-soaked fingers slip from his mouth. He kissed the palm of the his hand and gave him a tiny nod of encouragement. 

“Just like that?” Chris swallowed hard around the thick feeling in his throat, stroking Darren’s back with his other hand. 

“Yeah, just- yeah.”

Chris’s fingers slipped down the last few knobs of Darren’s spine to trace right across the crack of his ass, and then pushed between once more. The slide isn't easy like it would be with lube, but the wet fingers still nudge gently into the first ring of muscle making Darren groan and grind his forehead down into Chris’s collar bone. 

“ _Fuck_.” Darren’s voice is a gravelly rasp when Chris gets both of his long fingers wedged in, up to the second knuckle. He keeps rocking his head back and forth where it is buried against the deep rise and fall of Chris’s chest.

“You good?” 

He doesn't respond aloud, only nods his approval into Chris’s skin and resettles his legs further apart. Chris sets to work then, fingers slip sliding against the inner walls of Darren’s body, seeking out the small patch of nerve endings inside him. It takes a minute, the only sound in the room their loud breathing until Darren jumps and cries out softly. _There we go._

Chris adjusts the angle of his wrist and then begins rubbing the small pocket of flesh with his fingertip in slow circles. He varies the speed of his passes every few circles, playing the other man’s whimpers and gasps like a master musician with his instrument. His own erection smashed between their sweat damp bodies is all but forgotten as he works to make Darren feel as _much_ as possible. He’d always been unimaginably sensitive, and Chris has had years now to learn just which touches turn Darren into a loose and honey sweet mess. 

“Lo-” His voice fails him, with a croak that forces him to clear his throat softly. “Look up at me?” 

Darren complies immediately. His pupils are blown black and his mouth is open and wet from where he had been mouthing absently at Chris’s chest. God, he is stunning. Darren’s face tenses and relaxes with the movements of his fingers and his breathing catches roughly with each firm press. The openness and vulnerability in those barely gold eyes makes something much more intense than a physical sensation swell inside of Chris’s body. The amount of trust and acceptance that it takes to leave yourself fully open and defenseless to another person like this is something that has always made Chris feel more dizzy and overwhelmed than any orgasm he had ever experienced. And Darren does it so easily, naturally, just lets Chris take or give whatever he wants from him like this. It’s such a heady rush that Chris fully forgets his own arousal and reaches his free hand down and begins to roll the soft wrinkled flesh of Darren’s balls around in the palm of his hand.

“Oh shit, I’m…”

“I know. Come on.” He tenses and relaxes his hand in rhythm with his fingers inside that have been milking the swollen gland inside of Darren to the point that it must be starting to slide towards painful. “I want you to. Please?”

Darren breathes deeply through his nose and begins to rock his body faster against Chris’ in a chosen pace and rhythm of his own. It takes less than a minute until he is whimpering into the overheated skin of Chris’s neck, shaking from head to toe. Darren’s teeth scrape down hard against the skin of his throat, and then he is pulsing, releasing wetly against Chris’ stomach and now only half erect cock. Both of his hands keep working slowly to massage Darren through it. He is certain that he has never seen anything more beautiful than the still moment that stretches between when he eases his hand from Darren’s trembling body and pulls him more securely atop him instead. His eyes are bleary and his hair is matted to his forehead with both their sweat, and he licks his already wet lips and smiles tiredly.

“You didn't listen to the laws of the universe.”

Chris can’t help the short bark of a laugh that bubbles out of his throat and he hugs his arms around Darren’s body even more tightly. “I’ll take my chances.”


	10. Home - Darren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, fluff, fluffy, fluff.

There were many places in the world that Darren had carved out a small niche for himself. Cities like New York, Chicago, London, and hard to pronounce townships in Tuscany, where he had _his_ coffee house with a friendly staff and busy open mic night, the best deli and pizza joint, a quiet park to run away to when he needed to be alone with his thoughts. L.A. had been home base for his career for six years now, he paid taxes on a price of actual land with his own name on the deed there. A part of his heart would always linger on in Ann Arbor, where he met his platonic life partners and grew up from a boy to a reasonably mature man-child. Darren was born with a wanderer's soul, and each of these places had left their own unique mark upon his life, and in his own way, him on it. But San Francisco would always be his _home_. His family was there, his earliest memories, and there was no other place in the world quite like it. 

Growing up in San Fran was freeing in the sense that you get to grow up thinking only about who you _are_ , not weighed down by the idea of who it is that you _should be_. Those ugly realities were something he was faced with much, much later. He realized now that he had completely taken the wonder and joy of his hometown for granted when he was younger. Not a mistake he would ever make again.

The too brief day and a half that he and Chris spent exploring little gems of the town that Darren had either forgotten about, or was just too chicken shit to share with him on either of their previous visits, flew by like a whirlwind. Chris kept his usual go-to hat and dark sunglasses firmly in place for the limited protection that they provided, while Darren resolutely went without anything extra, even while taking Chris's hand as not to lose him in a crowd. If Chris noted the change or significance, and Darren was betting that he had, he didn't mention it. 

The visit also meant spending time around Darren's parents. In fact, it was _Chris_ who was treated like the prodigal son returned home at last. They had both always liked the blue eyed boy, his mother especially. She had ever since the first time Darren had introduced Chris to her at a fancy industry event a few months after he started on the show. His mom may have been one of the sweetest people on the planet, but she had never allowed either him or his brother to feed her a line of bull. 

They made a humorous picture, dressed up in their black tie finery while sitting in the middle of a Denny's in East Hollywood after the event, Darren and his father both desperate for some _real_ food. His mom had waited until his dad had gotten up to use the restroom before she struck.

"You like that boy."

Looking back, he would have been a lot better off if he had at least pretended to have to wonder about which boy she'd meant, he must have introduced her to at least a five or six of his new cast mates and friends that night. But there was only one constantly on his mind, and having it so blatantly thrown out there had made him start to sweat under his expensive suit.

"Of course I do. He's an amazing actor. They all are. I really lucked out with this-"

"I am not a stupid woman, Pogito. You really like this one."

"Mama." He tried to roll his eyes like she was being ridiculous and play it off, he was a professional trained actor after all.

"Don't you 'Mama' me. You look at him like you looked at that god awful junky car you bought when you were sixteen. Like it was the culmination of every wish you had ever made."

She had been right, of course, and in the deepest part of himself Darren had known it even then. Not that he had been anywhere near ready to admit it to himself at that time. It would be months later after heated, caught up in the moment kisses and secret "friendly" not-dates, before he would be able to recognize and accept what they were both feeling for the inevitable thing that it was.

When he had called ahead and warned his mom that he and Chris were headed in that direction and would be there the following day, she had reacted just as he figured that she would, flat out refusing his offer to find them both a room for the night and setting right into menu planning. There were a few of her ethnic specialities that she hadn't tried out on Chris yet. Both of his parents are aware enough of their joint history together that they don't seem surprised or phased by the news that the both of them would be coming up together. It isn't until the following morning, when Darren's mother sneaks up on him in the kitchen, that anything is even said on the issue.

He had been standing at the sink as Chris slept up in his old room, looking out of the window at the early morning fog with a glass of juice, when she tip-toed in and startled him with an unexpected hand on his back, making him jump. Sometimes the woman moved as silently as a cat, it was annoying. 

"G'morning," he mumbled quietly, once his heart rate had returned to a more normal pace, watching her expertly fly through the ritual of starting up his parents’ stupidly complicated looking coffee maker. His mother keeps glancing over at him, her bright eyes, so like his own, clearly full with some message she wanted to convey. "Okay, out with it."

She stops and and stands directly in front of him, raising a hand to push the hair back from his forehead. It's nice to look _down_ at someone for once. "Are you happy?"

He should have expected the question, his mom wasn't one to beat around the bush.

"I am. I'm trying to to be, Mama."

She nods and tugs at the ever thickening growth on his chin beneath his grin. "Good. You smile even when you aren't happy, Pogi. So you stay that way this time."

Darren wraps his arms around his mother's tiny frame and lets himself be hugged close to her for a while as the coffee brewed and the rest of the house slept.

They make the five hour drive back in one shot, taking the highway instead of the coastal road this time. There is a lot to plan and arrange if Darren wants to leave in time to get everything set up. Telling everyone on his so-called team would be the easy part, he'd call them all from the fucking airport. But there were tickets to buy, and other people, friends, who needed to be told before he just left the country for a few weeks. He'd leave the cancelling of appointments, meetings and appearances to the assholes who were paid to handle that stuff. The keys to his folks' getaway apartment sat like a burning chunk of heated iron in the pocket of his jeans after he talked to them about his grand plan earlier that morning. Once he got over there, he'd have to go and have a second set made. He'd make them, and then hope that they would be used.

His mind was so wrapped up in his plans and everything that he had to do, that somehow the final sixty miles slipped past him unnoticed, and Chris was pulling off the freeway exit near Darren's home. They hadn't talked much during the drive home, but neither worked too hard to still the silence when there was still so much for them both to consider. The closer that Chris drives towards his house, the more Darren knows that he isn't ready for this to be it. He isn't ready to walk away from Chris and leave the decision of whether or not he was going to follow after, fully in Chris's hands. But as they make the turn onto his street, that is exactly what he has to do. 

Chris pulls into the circular drive outside Darren's house and cuts the engine. His hand falls heavily down into his lap. Neither of them say anything for a while, they just sit inside this small, safe bubble of space that smells like both of their colognes and generic industrial car upholstery cleaner. Chris reaches out first, his warm hand cupping the back of Darren's neck and pulling their heads closer together until their lips meet. The kiss is slow and closed mouthed, more of a promise of a kiss than anything else. Then Chris nods slowly to himself, and leans his forehead against the side of Darren's face. 

They already know and have already said everything that they needed to, but Darren can't help but pull back so he can see Chris's face.

"I have that benefit that I can't miss, but it's not until the middle of next month. I'm pretty much free until then. So you know where I'll be, I guess."

Darren pauses and watches Chris nod his head again slowly.

"I really hope I see you soon."

Darren purses his lips into a tight line, the saddest most pathetic impersonation of a smile. He gives himself three more heartbeats worth of studying Chris's careful, expressive eyes for a clue, but finds little to go on. He climbs out of the rental car, grabs his bag from the back, and then shuts that door, and walks inside before he has to watch Chris drive away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Pogito" - "Little handsome boy", and "Pogi" - "Handsome boy" in Tagalog.


	11. Flight - Chris and Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Lynne, who gets ALL the clumsy comma gold stars, and Zinnia, who is not a heartless bitch.

In the two days since Chris had dropped Darren off at his door without a verbally spoken promise as to when they would see each other again, three major things had happened.

One: he had gone home himself and proceeded to clean every inch of the house, before launching right into an exhausting two hour workout. All with the explicit goal of wearing himself out so badly that it would be possible for him to just shower and pass out in bed, too tired both physically and mentally to think. It hadn't worked. 

Two: he had always been guilty of talking to Brian as if he was a human being capable of speech. Chris would rant about whatever, or more often than not, whoever, was troubling him, and then glance at the cat's silent expression for guidance and clarity. Cooper was now subjected to this particular brand of insanity as well. While both animals had initially seemed happy to find Chris home from his three day absence, he now suspected they both wished that he'd just shut the hell up based upon their mutual disappearing acts. 

Three: without having given the question any deep, intentional thought, Chris realized that he had already made up his mind about following Darren. His heart had probably made the decision for him not ten seconds after Darren had presented the offer standing there beside the beach.

He wasn't kidding himself about what this would mean, not just to other people who would have to know or find out where they were and that they were there together, but also to each other. Chris accepting Darren's offer to come and stay with him like this was an acknowledgement that they were changing all the rules of what they had always been to each other. To be out together in the light of day, there would be no going back from this, he was certain of that. There was a time when the thought of seeing Darren out in the world by his side, free and embracing all of who he was outside and in, was the greatest desire that Chris had. It had been idealistic and shallow, but he wanted to _show_ the entire world what only he truly saw and knew. But it was after that, when being in love with Darren lead to knowing the ins and outs of the man, that Chris began to appreciate how hard that dream could be for Darren and what he might lose. After that, Chris never let himself dream of it again. It hurt. It hurt more than he knew something so inarticulate could, but even more than that it left Chris so damn frustrated at the unfairness of it all. Why did anyone else have the right to ruin this for him? At first it took grinding his teeth together and physically throwing himself down into a seat behind his laptop to lose touch with his own reality for a while every time one of the perfectly domestic fantasies of Darren as his boyfriend crept in. With time it became easier, they remained what they were, tremulous as it was, and other people knowing about it became much more of a source of anxiety than a fantasy.

He could both hear the steel in Darren's voice when he spoke about the contract negotiations, and feel the way he gripped Chris's hand tightly like a lifeline when they had walked down the busy San Francisco sidewalk. Darren's mind was already made up about this, even if he wasn't ready to admit it. They were both afraid, afraid and right now separated by an ocean. Things were about to change again, ready or not, and Chris would much rather face them with Darren's warm hand clasping his than without it.

Chris wasn't an island. He couldn't just jump up and leave the country and call and apologize (or not) later like _some people_. Getting someone to come in and take care of his furry children and bring in the mail wasn't a problem, he did pay someone a generous salary for that. That took a text complete with a very vague time frame and an emoticon he would never admit to using, and that part was done. The second exchange would not be so easy. Chris briefly considers going into the kitchen, reaching into the cabinet under the sink, and pouring a shot or three of tequila, before shaking the thought off as a bad idea and dialing up the number by hand.

He didn't even speak a word before the lecturing began.

"...yes, yeah. I've been home for a couple of days. I know, I should have called. I'm sorry." He lets her get a few choice rightfully earned insults off her chest before he straightens his shoulders and cuts her off mid-rant. "Okay! I _know_." Her tone softens then, and Chris feels the tension sweep out of his own spine. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm... we're good actually. The weekend away was good. I needed it. There is something I need to talk to you about though. It's about the trip coming up..." The screeching coming through the phone speaker increased so much so suddenly that Chris had to pull the phone five inches away from his ear. She was screaming so quickly that he was only able to catch every fourth word or so. "No! I am not throwing anything away for anyone. No, of course I'm still going. It's just..." He took a deep breath, last chance to rethink this thing. "I'm going to go by myself." Neither spoke for a few moments until she tentatively began to question his sanity. "I won't exactly _be_ by myself." He let that one sink in. "Of course he's not going with me! In fact he's already there... I think. Or maybe not. I don't know. You know that I appreciate everything you do for me, and I couldn't juggle all the balls I have in the air at once without you. But I need to do this for myself. _Please_ , just trust me? Oh, and you also need to cancel the hotel reservations when you call the airline. We're staying somewhere else. ...well, I can't exactly tell you. It's private. All you need to know is that I know what I'm doing." _Kind of_. "And I will be everywhere I'm supposed to be, on time, and I promise to both be careful and check in." That didn't go over so well, but her oppositions were starting to sound a little defeated. "You know that I love you, please don't fight me on this." She sighed and reminded him of an important task they had scheduled for the beginning of the week. "...well, we'll do that first. Can we go now? In the morning then?"

Ten minutes and a lot of "I know's" "I can handle its" and "I promise's" later, Chris sat down heavily on the foot of his bed, and opened up a browser window on his phone. It took less than sixty seconds to use his pre-saved billing information to buy a one way, first class ticket for the following afternoon. He smiled to himself and sent a text.

**Hope you got in okay. -Chris**

An eleven hour flight is a nerve rattling experience at the best of times, when you already feel like your insides are knotted up and twisted into a vaguely pretzel shaped mass, it is an all new definition of Hell. On the bright side, the idea for a new book based on purgatory being a never-ending transcontinental flight and the assortment of characters one might meet there is now safely saved away on his hard drive. 

In any case, by the time Chris touches down in the busy airport, it is a calendar day later and he feels so grateful to finally be back on solid ground that he could bend down and kiss the floor, if that wasn't a completely unhygienic and ludicrous thing to do. He had gotten little to no sleep on the plane, so many strangers and variables in such close proximity don't exactly put him in a restful mood. He is tired and slightly bleary-eyed as he trudges through the concourse. It's mid-morning here, though his body tells him that it's only the wee hours of the morning. Oh jet lag, thou art a heartless bitch. He briefly considers the line to stop and get coffee, but pushes on to find his baggage carousel instead. The seemingly simple task ends up taking the better part of half an hour, and Chris is so beyond ready for the travel part of this little adventure to be over. Thinking about the destination and its bright eyes and strong arms is much more pleasant, and seems to give Chris the caffeinated jolt he had passed over. He pushed through the crowd, and out to where there is a short line of unhired cabs waiting beside the curb. Settling his rolling suitcase first, and then himself with his carry-on into the vacant backseat, Chris slams the door shut behind him with a self-satisfied smile. He'd done it, he had gotten here and did just fine on his own. So there.

The cab driver is unironically older and impatient when he hits the button to start the meter up and stares back through the rearview mirror to where Chris still sits grinning like an idiot. He asks in a heavily accented voice where Chris is headed.

_Shit..._

\----

Darren had been a ball of nervous energy and hair ever since he had arrived. His mother, bless her, had the foresight to call the property manager and have the apartment cleaned and readied for him before he had gotten there. He owed his parents huge for this, but that was nothing new. He had been here a few times before with them, he, his brother, and some friends had all stayed here for a week for what they had called a "songwriting retreat" which had really been code for staying very, very drunk, and then he had come once for a blow-out summer break after his junior year of college. The place was just as he remembered it, small and quiet, with ivy wound around the metal fence outside, and many large picture windows. His mother's touches were obvious and plentiful, and he couldn't help but imagine his dad's epic _"Do I **look** like I care what color the extra cushions on the couch are?"_ face when she had decorated it. It felt like home but with a noticeable other quality to the air. 

As nice as the apartment was, as soon as he had slept off the effects of his ridiculously expensive last minute flight over, he couldn't seem to stand to be confined within the walls. He knew he was meant to be soul-searching about his career and his future and all the intricacies of his life affected by it, but really his mind was tied up in a predictable stream of recurring thoughts. _Was Chris going to show up? What would it mean for them if he didn't? And how long would he have to wait to find out?_ He was resolute and unshakable in his decision to give the other man whatever time he needed to decide what he wanted to do, but the silence in the place that he so desperately wanted to share with him was deafening.

The first morning he had gone to the market a few streets over, and half-ass stocked the kitchen with junk and sandwich makings. He knew that he would mostly eat out anyway. He wasn't able to stop himself from preemptively buying a six pack of Diet Cokes to stick in the refrigerator as well, but he couldn't stand the sight of them sitting on the shelf. He scooted them behind the gallon of mineral water he had purchased and pretended he couldn't see through to it. The entire exercise had barely taken an hour. 

So he walked. Darren walked ancient city streets, through modern art districts, down sleepy run down residential avenues, and past famous landmarks. For four days he walked and explored until his legs ached and his feet were screaming, and then he forced himself to push on into the night for an hour or two more. He had old friends in the area, people he had worked with and hadn't seen for ages that he could have called to use as a distraction, but they weren't who he needed. 

Every time his phone had vibrated in his pocket with a call or text, he had stopped dead in the middle of wherever the hell he was and scrambled to grab for it. But it was always another rendition of the same "You're going where? You can't! You have commitments! What are you thinking?" song he had already heard a half dozen times. Except the once. He had been sitting on a bench overlooking a busy public square and watching people move around him without giving the bearded guy sitting alone a second glance. How's that for irony? Darren's heart had skipped half a beat and been thrown off its usual rhythm when he saw the message notification and name on the lock screen. Was it even possible for your hands to start sweating that quickly? A swipe and a single tap of his thumb later and he stared at the message. 

**Hope you got in okay.**

He swallowed hard. Chris hoped he was okay, great. But what did that even _mean_?

He had stared at the short message long enough for the screen to go to black a few times. Instead of responding, he got up, shoved the cell phone back into the pocket of his jeans, and kept walking.

He had only been out for about an hour and was still keeping an eye out for an attractive cafe to have breakfast on his fifth morning, when his phone rang again. He looked at the screen and there it was. This was it, yes or no. 

_God, what fucking time was it there? Was it a bad thing that he was calling this early? Well, this late? Was something wrong or- Criss, answer the call, dumbass._

"Hello?"

"You answered! Thank God." Chris actually sounded relieved. Did he seriously think he wouldn't?

"Course I answered. What are you even doing up? It's gotta be-"

"The apartment, where you're staying, I need the address. You never gave it to me."

Darren blinked against the bright morning sun, trying to rapidly analyze the request. _Oh, huh. He hadn't actually done that, had he? But why would he... But it had to be a good thing that Chris was even thinking about it. Right?_

"Dare?" Chris sounded even more anxious.

"Yeah, yeah I'm here. I'll give it to you, but listen. I swear to you that this place isn't something you are going to find listed somewhere online or anything. It isn't like when we're at home and people find out shit. My parents hardly even ever come here! You don't have to be paranoid about that. You could actually relax and get some peace here. Please stop worrying about every-"

"Darren!" Chris yells into the phone this time to cut him off. 

" _What_?" He can't help but yell back just as exasperated with the conversation, getting funny looks by both the elderly couple and young mom pushing a jogging stroller walking by him on the street corner.

"The address, please. The meter on this cab is already running and your babbling is getting expensive."

_Wait. What?_


	12. A Lot - Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been duly informed by Lynne and Zinnia that I need to include a warning for this chapter. READ WHILE ALONE. For reasons.

If Darren nearly causes an accident, shoves aside a few pedestrians, and destroys some decorative landscaping in his mad dash back to the apartment he had been only too eager to get away from just a little over an hour ago, he doesn't slow down to apologize. He doesn't slow down for anything. This is why he makes it back in under fifteen minutes, sweaty and flushed despite the cool weather, and panting for breath. It's not the ideal way that he would choose to greet Chris, but all in all, the man had seen him far worse. He drops down heavily onto the concrete steps outside the apartment building and tries to catch his breath.

As soon as his mind had absorbed the information that Chris was here, that he had actually decided to come, getting to him had become the sole focus of every cell that made up Darren's body. Each miniscule part of him had a separate voice and a heartbeat, and they were all chanting Chris' name. 

He tried to convince Chris to just jump out of the cab, and to stay there at the airport until Darren could come to him, but that idea was quickly brushed off. Not only would that take longer, but then there would be two of them to drag back across the entire city, with luggage, on public transport. No.

The wait was just... unreal. How could you long for the sight of someone so much that it manifested as pain when you had seen them less than a week ago? It was hardly the longest span of time he'd ever gone without seeing him face to face. No, there had been actual months last year when their only contact had been texts and all too public images, shared by other people, gazed at through a phone or computer screen. But Darren was done trying to make sense of things that involved the two of them. There was no mathematical equation that he could solve that would suddenly make what he felt for Chris simple and logical. Sense just didn't apply. If he wanted this man, and he knew without a doubt that he did, then Darren was just going to have to fucking go with it.

When the black taxi turned down onto the otherwise deserted street, Darren stood. He walked in a daze to stand at the fence, luckily having the peace of mind to at least wipe his sweaty hands off on the seat of his jeans. He could just make out the profile of a man sitting alone in the backseat through the cab's tinted windows. Even with the dark plastic covering the glass, it was a face he would know anywhere. Chris reached forwards and handed a few bills to cover his cab fare, before he opened the door and smiled almost shyly in Darren's direction. It made him feel warm even under the midday sun. 

They met halfway between, Chris dropped both of his bags to the grass in favor of wrapping his arms around Darren's waist and pulling him in close. Darren inhaled deeply smelling Chris' laundry detergent still clinging to his dark T-shirt and then just buried his head in the other man's neck. They were pressed together from their knees to their faces, Chris' being hidden in Darren's fluffy wind-dried hair. "I didn't think you were going to actually show up."

He could feel the low rumble in Chris's chest when he chuckled. 

"Hope you didn't decide to invite anyone else as a backup, then."

"I tried," he joked, even as he slid one hand into the back pocket of Chris' insanely tight jeans. "Turns out they were all busy this week. So looks like I am stuck with you."

He felt the air displace his hair when Chris snorted another soft laugh against the crown of his head. "Asshole."

They stayed there for a few moments, reveling in the fact that it is possible to stay there, before Darren finally pulled away a few inches to get a good look at him. Chris is travel rumpled and in yesterday's clothes like anyone who takes an overnight flight would be, and there are light purple half moon-shaped shadows underneath his eyes, but he is the most gorgeous thing Darren can ever remember seeing. He carefully pulls Chris's dark framed glasses from his face, and reaches up to stroke the darkened delicate skin of his lower eyelids with his thumb. "You look beat. C'mon inside."

Grabbing one of Chris's hands in his and the handle of the rolling suitcase in the other, Darren leads Chris up the walkway and then the steps. The locked door forces him to let go for just seconds, before he gets the front door open and tows Chris in behind him. 

"Living room, TV, kitchen, other shit." He doesn't stop moving as he gives Chris the five second tour, just keeps pulling him along in the direction of the short hallway. "Bathroom, other room, my room." There isn't any hesitation on either of their parts as he leads Chris into the last door in the hallway. There will be time to explore and talk later. Right now Chris looks half dead on his feet and in need of some serious rest. Darren places Chris' glasses on the dresser and then starts trying to ease the thin dark blue jacket he wore down his arms to take it off for him.

Chris makes a grunt of disapproval and lightly shoves him away. "I'm jet lagged, not an invalid." He informs Darren with a smirk, quickly ridding himself of the jacket and his shirt before slumping down onto the unmade bed to start on his shoes. 

Darren watches distractedly, before turning away to close the window blinds and curtains, shutting out as much of the noon day sun as possible. He may have only been up himself for around four hours, but suddenly a nap, curled beside Chris kind of sounds like the best thing in the world. By the time he himself is down to just his underwear, Chris is already in bed rubbing his eyes.

"Are you going to stand there and creep on me or are you getting in?"

Darren acts like he needs to consider it. "Those are my only options?"

When Chris scowls at him, it is too much to take, and Darren hurries up into the bed and kisses that pouty pink bottom lip, and then the rest of Chris' mouth gently. He drinks in the fluttery sounds that he eases from Chris' throat and wraps an arm tightly around him, darker fingertips teasing across paler light skin. 

"Flew across an ocean for you, you know."

Darren smiles at the sleepy mumble. "You just didn't want to have to stay in a hotel. Admit it."

"I real-" Yawn. "Really didn't. Hotels suck." Chris turns and nuzzles his face into the natural indentation between Darren's pecs.

There'd be time to talk later but right now Darren was as perfectly content as he'd ever been.

He wasn't even tired, but after a short while of laying tangled up with Chris in his arms, Darren must have fallen asleep as well. When he takes a glance at the digital clock beside the bed it shows it to be a little after three in the afternoon. Chris was clearly down for a good deal of time. He slept sprawled out on his front beside Darren, with his head and one hand lying on top of Darren's chest and stomach. The same hand that was still wearing Darren's thick, silver ring that he had slid onto Chris's finger that night back in L.A. on impulse. Seeing it look so at home on Chris's hand, it ... _did things_ to him. Things that were probably not conducive to them being cuddled up against each other and Chris getting the rest Darren knew he genuinely needed. 

He slid out from under Chris' arm and to the edge and finally off the side of the mattress at a snail's pace. Though from the unchanging level of the nasally snores coming from the bed, he could have somersaulted off and it wouldn't have made much of a difference. He snuck out of the room and went to shower, leaving Chris to get some sleep. The process of showering, making himself a sandwich for lunch, eating, even cleaning up after, somehow only stretched into the space of half an hour. Then Darren began to pace. The apartment wasn’t large, the square footage allowing only so much pacing range. Now that Chris was here, just down the hall, Darren just wanted to be with him. After turning the tv on, flipping through all thirty five of the channels, and declaring the futile attempt at distracting himself a complete lost cause, Darren got up, retrieved the second sandwich he had made and one of the formerly offensive Diet Cokes from the fridge, and made his way back to the bedroom. 

He should probably feel worse about it than he does, but impulse control had never been his strong suit, and hey, the guy’s gotta eat, right? He sat down on the edge of the bed, sat the food on the nightstand, and then rolled the cold soda can across the smooth, exposed dip at the small of Chris’s back.

His legs spasm first, and he lets out an adorable sleepy noise of contempt, making Darren bite down on his wide grin. Then on the first pass Chris jerks up, knocking Darren’s arm away. “Fucuuwhayoudonuh- Darren?” The lashes blink rapidly over his unfocused blue eyes comically fast.

“Welcome back. Lunch?”

Chris flops back down onto the mattress with a quiet "Oomph" and proceeds to try to pull the blankets back over his head as he rolls away from Darren. 

"Noooo," he snatches the sheet out of Chris' loose grasp. "At least eat first." Darren places the ice cold drink can against the sensitive skin covering his ribs this time, making Chris jolt away.

"God, you suck." Which when mumbled into a pillow sounded more like "Gob oo suff" but clearly it was enough for Darren to understand the grumbling.

"Only if I really _really_ like you. I'm not some kind of slut, Colfer." The snort that earned him, made Darren's grin light up like the sun. 

Chris eventually and with great effort pulled himself into a sitting position with his back up against the headboard. He accepted the soda can with an eye roll but Darren didn't miss the soft curve of his mouth. "Thanks."

Chris, of course, meant the drink in his hand, the fact that Darren had thought to buy it. They both knew he hated the stuff. But by the way those sea colored eyes were calmly regarding him, Darren wondered if Chris might be thanking him for more than just bringing him lunch. It made him a little nervous.

"How long are you going to be able to stay? I know you have work stuff to do..." _How much time do I get with you? How much of your reasoning was about me? Do you even get what this means to me, Angel?_

Chris took a slow sip of his drink. "Five days." Darren wasn't able to hide the falter to his smile quick enough, Chris looked back down at his sheet-covered knees and went on. "I have two meetings later this week and then there is a big table read scheduled for the following Saturday. With all the book stuff coming up... So yeah, I'll be at the production office a lot." Chris shrugged one shoulder and then looked up at Darren to gauge his reaction.

Okay. So he had five days to convince him to stay longer... And three of those he'd barely see him, but Darren would make it work somehow. He _had_ to. Chris had come all the way over here and they finally had some time to be together in a place where they weren't scrutinized under a microscope. Darren wasn't about to screw this up. 

"What about you?" Chris's question pulled him out of his churning thoughts. He was smirking at Darren with a playful gleam in his eyes. "What have you been getting into since you got here?"

 _Thinking about you. Wearing out a $980 pair of loafers. Getting blisters._ "Not a lot."

Chris didn't look like he was buying it. "Sure, in this town? I know you have friends here. You must have been going out. You'd lose your mind sitting here by yourself."

 _Might as well..._ "I didn't come here to hang out with friends, Chris."

The sudden change and intensity in Darren's voice didn't go unnoticed, he could tell that by the way the other man's posture suddenly stiffened, and how blue green eyes flickered back and forth rapidly between his own hazel, trying to hold them both at once.

"I came here because I only wanted to be with you." There was no more simple way to say it.

Chris licked his lips. "Aren't I your friend?" 

Darren watched as Chris seemed to move in slow motion, setting aside his uneaten sandwich and drink. He crawled across the bed and settled on his knees beside Darren, who was physically unable to tear his eyes away from the literal miles of creamy, bare skin stretched tight over close packed planes of muscle that he knew all too well the strength of. Chris grinned and folded those endless legs across either side of Darren's lap, straddling his thighs. The man was honestly trying to kill him.

"I thought I was a very good friend. Was I wrong?" Chris's voice had dropped a full octave into that huskier timbre that always seemed to go right to Darren's crotch. 

"Uh..." _Smooth_. "You, you are. You're-"

"You sure about that?" Chris wound both his hands deeply into Darren's hair, nails lightly scratching at his scalp. "You don’t sound convincing. Do I need to remind you what a great friend I am, Dare?"

Darren had no idea what his face must look like, eyes wide and dilated jaw hanging open, like a fucking cartoon character most likely. He is sure that there is something he is meant to say right now, but the language sector of his mind seems to have completely disengaged. Not that Chris seems to mind, his smile represents the cat that got the canary, and razor sharp when he bends forward and kisses Darren's slack-parted lips. A quicksilver flash of tongue, and he is licking across Darren's tastebuds awakening and alerting every tiny bundle of nerves that _oh, oh my God. Chris, Chris is here now_.

Once Darren is panting for breath and finally gains enough mental faculty to be able to think about wrapping his arms around Chris' nearly naked solid body, the man is two steps ahead of him again. Just as his arms raise and his hands plant themselves against the sculpted muscles of Chris' back, Chris moves, slipping from his seat on Darren's legs and flowing like a body made liquid to the floor. He settles on the floor kneeling beside the bed, his hands deceptively light where they lay atop Darren's tensed thighs. The easy touch is completely at war with the focused green-gray steel in those wide eyes and the already pale red flush that had spilled over his cheeks and ears.

One thing they had learned early on in their first fumbling, heated intimacies together, was that Darren was extraordinarily _visual_ , and the sight of Chris' hands, face, and body touching his sent him right over the edge. The image of Chris kneeling in front of him left Darren dizzy and rendered him completely spellbound, hypnotized and held captive. Chris knew exactly what he was doing, and they both knew Darren would or _could_ make no move to stop him.

Chris leans forward and presses his face against the soft warm skin of Darren's stomach, nosing and nuzzling through the trail of coarse black hair trailed from the soft part of Darren's stomach down into the elastic band of his sweats. He closes his eyes tight and gasps at the feeling of Chris' thick, soft brown hair tickling the skin around his navel. But not looking does nothing to stop Darren from _seeing_. Even behind his eyelids he can picture the image of Chris on his knees below him in perfect, vivid technicolor. He can see it just as clearly as he can feel playful lips and teeth and hot breath, as he can feel two fists balled into the thick cotton of his sweat pants, pulling at them where Chris' hands sit on top of his thighs, material stretched tight.

Darren's cock had began to pay attention to the sudden shift in the air even before Chris had planted his brief-covered ass directly onto his lap, by now it was already fully erect inside his sweat pants, standing out in front of him and stretching the material further. Chris continued to tease the skin just above his pants, nosing and licking at his hipbones as he pretended not to notice Darren's dick knocking against his chin and neck with every minute movement.

"Okay up there?"

Darren hopes that question is rhetorical, but he nods frantically, not trusting any noise he might make at the moment. Chris' expressive eyes leave his face, and then he is tugging at the waistband of the sweats enough that the round, red purple head of Darren's cock pops out and is exposed to the cool air of the room. Before he can gasp at the change of sensation, Chris runs the bridge of his nose down the leaking slit. That evokes a noise Darren can not hold back.

"Babe! _Oh_ fuck, fuck."

Darren knows that Chris is done playing around when his strong hands grip the sides of his pants and yank at them roughly. He gets them down far enough that Darren's fully swollen cock and hanging balls are exposed in the front even while they are bunched up uncomfortably under his ass in the back. Darren barely has time to gasp out his lover's name before it is choked off. Without giving either of them any time to prepare themselves, Chris plunges his sweet wet mouth far enough down over Darren's cock that he immediately fights not to cough. 

"Shit, Chris! Car- fuck! Careful."

But Chris doesn't want to be careful. His sucks are deep and hard, he suppresses a few wet choking sounds that are the result from trying to take the fat head into his throat too soon. Darren is a babbling, cringing, crazy-eyed mess, but he is incapable of tearing his eyes away from the vision that is this inhumanly beautiful man trying to eat him alive. Chris hums around him, sending electric vibrations down Darren's dick and into his balls, where they are magically transported on pathways of connected nerves all throughout his body. He feels disconnected and floating, even as he grips at Chris' shoulder and scrambles the fingers of his other hand through the short, spiky hair at the back of Chris' head. 

Chris pulls off with a filthy, slick sound, his hand immediately starting up a steady pull, pull, twist, pull, pull, twist rhythm on Darren's bright red, blood flushed cock. The color had been something he had been self conscious about when he'd been young, and the only approval he had needed on his dick had been that of his own right hand. He was thick, with prominent veins snaking along the shaft, and swelled to a deep purple red when he was desperate to come. The contrast of that color against the smooth pink flushed paleness of Chris' skin had always made him lose his fucking mind.

He knew his eyes had to be glassy and unfocused as he watched Chris rub the engorged head across his lips, chin, cheeks, Darren's precome and his own spit smearing across Chris' face. The visual stimuli of his Angel, so completely wrecked, was more than Darren could take.

"C-Chris, can't. I..."

Chris just nodded his head and began to pepper sucking kisses all over the head as he watched Darren shake apart above him. Darren felt like his ears were popping from atmospheric pressure as his orgasam rushed through him. If he was able to see through the blinding lights flashing before his eyes, he would have seen Chris jerking his cock in his fist, slipping off the end several times, spurts of bitter, slick white landing across Chris' lips, chin, neck, and coating his hand. 

By the time Darren somewhat came back to his senses, Chis was whimpering loudly, his head laid on Darren's cotton covered knee, he was obviously yanking frantically at his own dick from where he knelt on the floor. It made Darren feel like shit. Or as much as you can feel like shit when you have just had your brain turned into goo and sucked out of your body right through your cock, anyway.

"I... Hey, I can-"

"Close, too close. C'mere. Kiss me." Chris' eyes opened into just slits showing the slightest hint of bright blue, his entire face and neck were flushed pink down to his chest, his voice a gritty and hoarse hiss. 

Darren slid from the bed and flopped onto his ass between it and Chris. Mindless of the smears of come and sweat that painted Chris' face, he cradled both sides of the younger man's face between his warm palms, and tenderly pressed his lips to Chris' trembling ones. Darren let him own depth and speed of the kiss, until he finally found his release with a high pitched whine into Darren's mouth. Darren gathers Chris' trembling body close to him where they both sit on the hard, wooden floor. 

Chris seems smaller and fragile like this, vulnerable in a way he lets so few people in the world ever see. Darren knows that he is babbling soothing nonsense into Chris' now sweaty hair, but isn't at all conscious of the words. Though he hopes if the "I love you, fucking love you, Chris. Just you, always" that he hears in his own mind did slip out, that it was too muffled by heavy breathing, and hair, and afterglow. 

It takes them a while to come back to themselves fully. He misses whatever Chris was mumbling against the ridge of his collarbone.

"Huh?"

"I said," Chris sits up to look at Darren with a smirk. "I told you I was your friend."

He can't help but laugh. "Yeah, you are. Not _just_ a friend, though."

Chris rolls his eyes, Shifting into a more comfortable position on the floor next to him. They both look and smell like sex in every possible sense of the word. "I didn't ever know that _just_ was a qualifier. Have we ever been just one thing at a time? We're... a lot."

He can live with a lot. For now. 

"And right now, two of those things are dumbasses for having sex on the floor beside the bed, and disgusting. Shower?" 

Chris pulls himself up to stand and offers his hand down in invitation. Darren will never not take it again.

"Shower."


	13. Amazed - Chris and Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You haven't lived until you have actually listened in on someone correcting your commas, hypens, and penis terminology. Thanks, ladies!
> 
> Song used in this chapter: "[Maybe I'm Amazed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DNh5Ca1dIXM)" by Paul McCartney. Feel free to click and listen along as you read.

The time passes in odd, even intervals. There are moments where Chris feels like the hours are speeding past him dizzyingly, and he can't hold the liquid span of days in his palm no matter how tightly he cups his fingers. It just keeps slipping through. Other times with Darren's warm back pressed against his chest as they sit in the small square of grass behind the apartment, everything slows until they seem to be removed from the timeline of the world completely. They aren't who they are there, no demands, no expectations, no limits. 

He knows this is a dangerous line of thinking. What he wants is so paradoxical that it forces his lips into a smirk. Chris is at once wanting his life to never be more than it is right at that moment, while he attends meetings and negotiations to cement his part in the next big step of his professional career. And Darren... _God, Darren_. Chris knew from the time they met that the man was meant to share the music and light inside him with the entire world. It wasn't even a question. Even as Chris involved himself in new projects, looked toward his future, he found himself reflecting on if being in this business was right for him at all. Darren shone under spotlights that made Chris squirm, it was one of the fundamental differences between them. He wasn't sure that he was cut out for the high price that being under that bright light demanded, and the more he saw of the ugliness hidden behind golden exteriors, the more he considered putting distance between it and him. Shows end, paths change. 

But these were thoughts that he could put off for another day. The mental procrastination wasn't his style, far from it, but he was determined to live in the here and now as much as possible.

After his meetings and obligations wrapped up, Chris let himself be persuaded all too easily by bright green in the sun, gold in the bedside lamp-light eyes, to extend his five day escape to a week, and then four days more. They explored the ancient city they both loved together for the first time. Keeping to small cafes, quiet shops, and darkened clubs, they went undetected and blissfully unnoticed, cloaked in the ordinariness of places no one had any reason to think they would ever be. The freedom to see the connection between them out in the world, not just contained safely behind walls and locked doors was intoxicating. Chris got to see what it was like to press a kiss against Darren's warm cheek under a streetlight, and hear how their combined shrieks and laughter sounded as they ran for cover after having gotten caught in a sudden downpour while being loaded down with bags of groceries.

He wanted it, of course he did. But Chris knew that letting themselves get lost in one another for a tiny period of time was one thing, and having to let the world in, would mean paying a high price for their time together than a few missed meetings and a ruined jacket destroyed by the rain. He would enjoy this, soak in every kiss stolen from Darren's sinful, smiling mouth, commit each corny joke and twisted kernel of logic to memory, because at the end of the day this wasn't his life, and he refused to imagine that it ever could be. This magic old city and the time hidden in its sunlight and shadows with Darren was a special time out of time, and Chris was going to treasure and appreciate it for what it was, before they stepped back into their lives. 

Darren was humming in between half serious ideas of how to spend the remainder of the day as they soaked up the weak sunlight. They'd eaten breakfast and then lounged around in the back garden, Darren with his notebook and guitar, and Chris making half-formed notes into his phone.

"...when I get back. What do you think?"

Catching only the tail end of the question, Chris looks up from his phone to see Darren looking at him intently from where he sat next to him. He blinked trying to remember the exact flow of the conversation, and failed miserably. "Uh, about what?"

Darren just smirked and ripped a handful of grass from the ground, throwing it in Chris' direction. "Calling everyone in to sit back down and talk over my options when I get home. Tell them I need to make some changes, that I've decided... certain _stipulations_ aren't gonna work for me."

_Oh._

Chris takes a deep breath and purses his lips into a tight line, thinking through just how he wanted to respond. "I think," he started carefully, moving to wind his arm round Darren's back, Chris' thumb can't help but play with the inch of warm skin along Darren's waist. "I think this isn't the best time to make such a huge decision." _Because if you ask me if I want to be with you, I'll have to tell you yes. And if you ask me if I think its worth screwing everything up, I’ll have to tell you no. So please don’t ask me._

“Didn't I make this damn trip with the primary intention of doing exactly that?”

 _Touche_. “Huh, and here I thought this trip was all about fattening pub food, staying naked in bed until noon, and you tinkering around on the piano. Oh wait, no, that was just all that you have actually been doing. My mistake.” 

Darren knocks Chris over onto his side in the grass and grins. “It’s not _all_ that I've been doing.” He leans down over Chris and nuzzles his cheek into Chris’ throat with a quiet hum, beard scratching lightly against the fair skin. 

Yes, there had been plenty of _that_ , too. He was fairly sure that he had seen, touched, tasted, and left his mark upon more of Darren’s body in the last week and a half than in the entirety of the previous three years. Which, granted how they began, was actually saying something. Chris was sure there were reddened patches of whisker burn and small bruises on parts of his body that he’d never even thought to name. They were gluttonous and indulgent lovers in a way that they had so rarely been afforded the chance to be before, and he had loved every moment. It was going to be so hard to come back down after this.

“Let’s go out tonight. Find a club, I kind of want to dance.” _And keep my hands all over you for as much as possible, without us physically injuring each other._

The sudden outburst made Darren sit up with an interested, albeit surprised, expression. “Yeah?”

“You up for it?” 

Chris was forcefully hauled to his feet by his arm within seconds.

A quick Google search on Darren’s phone pulled up a mile long list of possible places. It didn't have to be big, popular, or even particularly nice (quite the opposite) as long as there was loud synthesized bass, vodka, a sea of bodies to lose themselves in the middle of, and a cash pay bar, it more than met the needs they had for the evening. Deciding on a small place only a short walk and subway station away, Darren called dibs on the first shower. After Chris’ first night here, and falling flat on his ass in the middle of the bathroom floor much to Darren’s amusement, Chris had dubbed the tiny stall shower a one man zone. 

He picked up the small mess they’d made making dinner and then went and checked his messages while he waited for Darren to vacate the bathroom. His mother, three from his frantic friend asking him exactly when he thought he would be coming home from Neverland, a picture of his dog having completely destroyed yet another plastic chew toy. Why in the hell weren't those things puppy proof? He heard the shower cut off and hurried to gather up his things for his turn. 

Darren walked back into the room, dark hair matted down to his scalp in a towel moments later. _Shit!_ When had he done such a number on Darren’s arm? The tanned skin was dotted with small bruises like he’d been attacked by an octopus with an odd fixation on Darren’s shoulders. _Huh._

“Can you be ready to walk out the door in an hour?” Chris asked from the doorway, he held his toiletries bag and a spare towel in his hands.

Darren snorted without looking up from where he was bent over his suitcase, looking anything but virginal in the snowy white towel. “ _You_ are asking _me_ that, Colfer?”

Chris scowled, that sounded suspiciously like a challenge. He hurried off to the shower in a huff.

When he exits the closet sized bathroom in a cloud of steam, it is no surprise to hear the sound of the piano and Darren’s soft voice coming from the front room. Chris thought it was the background noise to his life _before_ , but now Darren was seated behind the keys any small chance he got. It made a tiny indulgent smile curve around the edges of Chris’s lips that Darren clearly found plenty to be inspired by. He went straight to the bedroom and started to get ready. 

After he turned off the blow dryer, Chris didn't immediately recognize the slowed piano tune that Darren was playing, but his ears caught a hold of the lyrics a few moments later, and the breath turned hot in his chest. Eyes locked on his own reflection in the mirror, he froze in place and listened to the smooth, velvet-like voice singing out from a room away.

_Baby, I'm a man_  
 _Maybe I'm a lonely man_  
 _Who's in the middle of something_  
 _That he doesn't really understand_

Chris watches his own face in the mirror. The half styled hair, shower reddened face, and suddenly watery eyes.

_Baby, I'm a man,_  
 _And maybe you're the only one who could ever help me._  
 _Baby, won't you help me to understand?_  
 _Oh…_

It wouldn't have been anything other than the force of gravity that pulled him out of the bedroom and the few steps down the hall, because he certainly didn’t remember telling his feet to move. 

Darren was seated at the upright facing the far wall. His head bent and nodding to the melody, eyes tightly closed as he let the music pour out of him. Chris wanted to remember every tiny intricacy of him in that moment. His curls still damp and flopping against his forehead as his head swayed to the music, the ridged knuckles of his large artist’s hands across the black and white keys, bare feet pressing down on the pedals.

_Maybe I'm amazed at the way you're with me all the time,_  
 _Maybe I'm afraid of the way I leave you._  
 _Maybe I'm amazed at the way you help me sing my song,_  
 _Right me when I'm wrong_

He was beautiful, and he was flawed, and he was a weakness that Chris knew that he was going to keep giving into over and over again until either it broke them, or some unknowable shift in the world took place. But more than that, Chris knew that this man was his.

And that he was completely, and utterly fucked.

_Maybe I'm amazed at the way I really need you_

He straightened his shoulders and made more intentional noise walking into the room. “Thought we were going out. They still wear shoes here, you know. Or did you change your mind?” He walked over to a decorative mirror that hung on the wall and began to pull his own hair into a properly messy disarray, really he just didn't want Darren to be able to see his face when he took a shaking breath to steady himself.

“Nope, almost ready.”

Yeah, Chris had been afraid of that.

\----

He could hear the bass beat of the music from outside the club as the door opened and shut to let patrons in and out. It was a small place, a once industrial building sandwiched in between a dry cleaners and a Chinese take out restaurant. The neon sign above the door read Blaze in burning red-orange letters. It’s the same sort of small disco that existed all over the city, not too crowded, dimly lit, and easy to disappear into. Darren glanced beside him at Chris who was assessing the crowd seemingly with amusement from behind the lenses of his glasses. His hair was styled more haphazardly than usual, and his clothes were dark and rather ordinary. But to Darren, in the trendiest, beautiful people hot spot in L.A. or in this dingy hole in the wall nightclub halfway around the globe, he would still have been the single most gorgeous fucking thing that he had ever seen. 

“Still wanna go in?” Darren had to lean close to Chris’ ear to be heard over the thumping music and chattering voices surrounding them as they stood on the sidewalk outside the entrance. 

Chris smiled in response and began pulling Darren to the entrance by the hand. 

He’d been quiet for most of the walk there, Darren wasn't quite sure what to make of it. He well knew that often when Chris was quiet, it meant that he had a problem in his mind that was taking most of his mental energy to sort through. So he tried to give him his breathing room to figure it out. A crowded, noisy nightclub was not the most ideal spot for such a thing, but this had been Chris’s idea after all, so Darren kept his mouth shut and allowed Chris to lead them inside.

The music inside the place is deafening, some foreign hip-hop artist that Darren can’t identify. They stand beside one another and take in the crowd. All the small round tables around the edges of the room are full, bodies are a tight packed writhing mass on the strobe lit dance floor. It’s a pretty mixed crowd, men, women, pairs of people making out or well on their way to it leaning up against the walls. They aren't anything special, just another couple out for a little fun. 

Chris squeezes his arm and juts his chin in the direction of the bar. Even with his mouth inches from Darren’s ear he has to yell to be heard. “I’m gonna get a Sky and soda. Sound okay?” At Darren’s nod, Chris presses into the crowd and gets swallowed up by it within seconds. Darren’s eyes can’t help but track the direction he’d gone in, until he catches sight of him ordering at the bar. He slides across a plastic I.D. and a few exchanged dollars. The card doesn't have his own name on it. Fake I.D.s aren't just for high school kids when your name is something that you want to go unnoticed. They both have one. God only knows how many hotel rooms, bar tabs, and what-not that he had paid for and booked under names other than his own over the course of the past few years. It was just a part of the job, a fact of existence. 

He lost sight of Chris again after he’d shoved away from the bar. Darren was leaning against a support pillar, waiting to spot him again through the crush, when he was approached by a tall guy in a ridiculously tight pair of jeans. He was a little younger than him, early twenties, with short buzzed blonde hair and a smile thought could have been featured in a toothpaste commercial. He walked over and leaned an arm against the same post, looking Darren up and down in a way that made his skin crawl. Darren tried to ignore the man completely, his eyes set on where Chris should be emerging from the crowd, until he made that impossible. 

“You aren't from this part of town, are you, darling?”

_You don’t know the half of it, buddy._

“Because I would certainly have noticed you before now. I’m Keith.”

_Well, good for you._

The guy leaned his upper body closer until his chest brushed against Darren’s shoulder. He smelled like beer and really cheap cologne. “You shy underneath all that hair? Can’t I at least get a name?”

Darren turned towards him, opening his mouth to kindly tell the drunken idiot to fuck off. “Okay, look-”

“Honey, there you are!” A familiar arm slides around Darren’s shoulders, but the voice coming from the body behind him doesn't match. He looks back to see Chris grinning ear to ear, a bright flush from the drink he’d just downed already visible in his cheeks. He fakes a decent accent, Darren has to hand him that. “Thank you for finding this one for me. He tends to wander off and get that lost puppy look about him so easily. Here’s your drink, sweetheart.” The tone Chris directs at the stranger is syrupy sweet, and what Darren can hear as being completely condescending as he hands Darren his own sweating glass. 

The guy scowls deeply at Chris and then mumbles something before making a hasty exit. Chris snorts into Darren’s collar. 

“Well, you sure seemed to enjoy that. Nice accent by the way.”

Chris giggles quietly and ducks down to take the straw of Darren’s drink in between his lips with a saucy wink.

Making up for the lack of interest that Darren had felt the need to pay his recent admirer, his eyes seem fixated on the sight of Chris’ lips doing things to the straw that he is quite confident are illegal in any civilized nation. With a flash of pink tongue, he forces the end of the straw from his mouth.

“You plan on making me drink all of this one, too?” He nudges the drink back in Darren’s direction with a smirk.

Someone’s playing dirty. Darren lifts the drink to his own mouth and takes a large gulp. The ice had started to melt making the drink weaker than it was, but the alcohol still burns a little going down his throat and warming the pit of his stomach. They trade off sips until the drink is gone and Darren is half hard in his jeans.

“Ready to dance? Or do you need a minute?” The way Chris quirks up one eyebrow at him makes Darren grin and shake his head. The man is something else. 

Darren reaches out and tangles the fingers of one hand between them.

The amount of people on the small dance floor force their bodies to press together immediately. If Chris wasn't aware of his reaction to his little stunt with the straw before, he certainly was now. Darren feels him drop his face into the cradle between his neck and shoulder as Darren’s hands find his hips, and they begin to rock their bodies to the beat of the indistinguishable music playing over the club’s speakers. They don’t talk, just roll their bodies in conjunction to one another’s in a movement that has always come as second nature to them both as breathing. Darren had always been a friendly outgoing guy, he couldn't remember a time when he hadn't had a large group of friends and even larger group of acquaintances around him. But never in his life had he met someone who he had clicked into a groove with, as suddenly and undeniably as he had with Chris. Call it chemistry, fate, whatever. He just had always considered it to be pretty goddamn _amazing_. 

In the darkness of the club, the colored strobe lights playing off of Chris’ skin when he pulls back and sways more slowly in place to a softer song turn him into something that looks so much more than normal flesh and bone. He had always been someone that Darren couldn't easily describe in mere words, Hell, he’s written a song about it, but with the purple and blue shining of his face and neck, he was breathtaking and magical. How he ended up having this man play such a huge role in his life, he doesn't know. Maybe he was the dope who left a cheese sandwich out and ended up accidentally inventing Penicillin in a past life. Whatever it was, he was grateful. Chris looked at him quizzically, but he just shook his head and smiled. 

The next hour passes in a blur of dancing interspaced with runs to the bar for drinks. They rock, and grind, and bend their bodies together in a tame approximation of the way they move with each other in bed. It’s freeing and fun and no one pays them any more attention than a smirk at the two nameless, young guys who can’t keep their hands off one another for even a minute. The evening goes on and the drink tab runs up, the liquor in their bloodstreams begins affecting their sense of propriety. The dancing becomes lost to the feeling of Darren’s heaving chest plastered to the sweat-damp cotton of Chris’ shirt. His nose is buried into the short hairs at the back of Chris’ neck, and he feels bathed in the scent of clean sweat and man and shampoo. His mind has decided that his body likes that scent more than oxygen as he deeply breathes it in. 

Chris’ arms criss-cross over his own chest as Darren’s hold him from behind, leaning much of his weight back into Darren’s body. He draws in a gasping breath when Chris’ fingernails begin to skim over his forearms, and he turns his chin so that their eyes can connect for the first time in several songs. His pupils are so blown that under the lights Darren can see only a thin ring of violet blue around the edges, and Chris’ lips slack and he breathes through his mouth. There is an instant stiffening in Darren’s body as he realizes that Chris is rock hard right there in his arms. It short circuits his brain and without thinking, he is turning the younger man’s body around to face him. The grin that slips across Chris’ face is tipsy slow, and he slides both his arms around Darren’s neck, slipping a strong, muscled thigh between his legs. The feeling of Chris’ long, ready cock pressing up and into his stomach makes Darren’s head spin. 

“And what've you been thinking about?” he murmurs the question against the sweating skin of Chris’ neck, letting his beard tickle the side of his face the way he knows Chris likes. He gets a sleepy sounding hum in reply. He can easily feel the pressure of the heavy erection trapped in Chris’ jeans against his hip. His mind is flooded images of the man laid out and naked, cock long, pink and perfect as it gently curves up towards his navel, legs that go on for miles bending against the sheets, kiss-swollen lips and glassy eyes. Darren mouths wetly at the side of Chris’ neck and up along his jaw, giving him just a hint of his teeth along the skin. He loves feeling him so loose and flushed like this. “Want me to get you home and open you all up, Babe?”

He takes the harsh grunt he feels and hears as a yes. _Sounds like it’s time to get out of here._


	14. Wonder  - Chris and Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE thanks to [Lynne](http://klainecrisscolferwilsonlove.tumblr.com/), [Zinnia](http://green-zinnia.tumblr.com/), and Photoshop Mistress [Heukii](http://heukii.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Also to every one of you reading this silly little story. I'm blown away by the response to my very first CC story.
> 
> Song used in this chapter: "[Bring On The Wonder](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zb0x4_2xocY)" by Susan Egan

By the end of his second week there, Chris is becoming a master at avoidance. He’s always had a knack for it, but his skills are now at an all time high level. He avoids talking to Darren about what he thinks Darren should do regarding the decisions he had come here to make and that Chris has done a fine job of distracting him from dwelling upon, if he does say so himself. He is careful in calculating the eight hour time difference between there and home so that he can usually avoid instant call backs and return messages, responding only when he is confident that the other party is fast asleep. He avoids thinking about how the time they have left together in this place, where they’ve been able to be more of what he had always wanted than he ever let himself even dream they could be, is now numbered in hours instead of days. 

They have to return home, not because they want to, but because this unreal pocket of reality always had an expiration date on it. Darren has a benefit, Chris has a book to release. There are friends, and families, separate jobs, homes, and pets, and _lives_. These two weeks aren’t Chris’ world, even if they’ve meant the world to him.

He does so much careful dancing and dodging around things, that maybe it shouldn’t be such a surprise when the thing he is usually most cautious about just comes tearing right out of him.

They were sitting side by side at the tiny breakfast bar in the kitchen, eating flaky little pastries that Darren had picked up at an amazing bakery a few streets over as Chris had slept, talking like it didn’t hurt at all about their flights the next day. Darren would be heading back first, he’d booked his return ticket before ever leaving California. Chris would fly home around ten hours later. He would get back on a plane and fly home, back to his empty house and his half awake life. A life that didn’t seem like it would fit anymore. It would be like wearing a shoe that was a size too small, tighter and more constricting than it would have felt before Darren showed up on his doorstep three weeks ago. That is Chris’ fairytale.

“I love you, you know.”

He would swear that the world stopped turning and his heart in his chest took a pause in its beats as he warily watches Darren’s face after the words spill from his lips. It wasn't the first time that they had said those words. Darren has always been very open about how he felt. But Darren is someone who loves so freely and openly that it isn’t difficult for him like it has always been for Chris. In any case, it was the first time that he could ever recall saying it first, actively taking on the vulnerability that the words require. This wasn’t words mumbled against sweaty skin while lost in a fog of pleasure, it wasn’t even “I love you, too” spoken after someone else had made that jump. Chris had just opened his heart up and placed it on the wooden countertop in front of the other man to do with what he would. 

Chris’ careful eyes scrutinized Darren’s expression, posture, breathing, waiting on a razor’s edge to see what he would say or do. For what could have been seconds or years he just sat there, eyes still on his ceramic mug. He was just _So. Fucking. Still_. Then Darren took a deep breath in that expanded his rib cage and he closed his eyes before he let it out. When he angled his face up to meet Chris’ eyes, they were as soft and warm and emerald-kissed amber as Chris has ever seen them. Darren reached out and took Chris’ hand. If he noticed the trembling in those pale fingers, he didn’t say. He turned Chris’ hand over and pressed his warm lips to the palm of his hand for several seconds.

Chris heard the voice in his head as clear in it’s tone and diction as if Darren had spoken out loud. _I know, you dummy. I know._

Their last day in the city is too nice to spend it cooped up inside, so they go wandering. Chris kept expecting to feel the energy between them change or strain after his sudden declaration that morning, but there was nothing. Nada. Darren was Darren and he talked the same bullshit and smiled the same sunny grins as he always did. Maybe Chris had just given voice to everything they had silently been saying this entire time.

They ambled from shop to shop, amassing the makings of an epic lunch piece by piece. No hurry or specific destination in mind, they just wanted to enjoy this day and each other for all that it was worth. Now that he’d gotten so unintentionally used to the warmth and pressure of Darren’s hand in his as they walked, he half-feared that some important part of him would float away without having it to tether him to the ground. 

Summer here didn’t mean the same thing as it did back home. The weather never got _“oh my God, kill me now, clothes and hair drenched in sweat, seriously consider moving to the arctic circle and living in an igloo”_ hot. It was just nice and breezy, with the sun warm on their faces and bare arms. The rolling green of the park they found was dotted with people doing exactly the same, taking refuge in this oasis of grass and trees in the middle of a concrete and steel city. They’d spread out their fresh bread and cheese, plastic containers of salads and fruit, small chocolate-iced cookies, and a bottle of wine, thinking nothing of the act of passing the various items back and forth and using a single plastic fork. It was an unspoken level of comfort that to Darren, was the most natural thing in the world, but to Chris, it seemed landmark and precious in a way that he couldn’t identify out loud. Not that he would try, he figured that some things were so unusual and rare that they should be yours and yours alone, selfishlessly hoarded away as a secret treasure all your own. What he had with Darren was like _that_. He worried that if he ever tried to explain it to the rest of the outside world, that the beauty of it would tarnish or fade, and that was something Chris was pretty damn sure he couldn’t handle.

Darren passes the bottle they’d been drinking directly out of, back to him and flops back onto the grass. He looked so at ease, small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, t-shirt riding up to expose the black, hair-dusted skin of his lower stomach, unshaven and hair gone wild. Nothing like the polished, meticulously crafted image that Chris knew he would be molded back into in a matter of days. This Darren belonged to this place and to him and to them, and Chris felt a sense of pride that he was the one chosen to see it. 

He leaned against Darren’s bent knees and looked out and watched the other people enjoying their own picnics and soaking up the sunlight there in the park. Some were couples, families with small children, even people sitting alone with earbuds in their ears or with coffee and a book. They all had places to be, work and obligations and houses, but for them this wasn’t some fantastical escape. It was just lunch in a park, it was just 2:00 on a Wednesday. 

“Can you imagine what that must be like? For this to be your real life?” He mused out loud, propping his chin on Darren’s kneecap and turning back to stare down at him.

One bright hazel eye squinted open against the sun. “What do you mean?”

Chris just shrugged, and then lowered himself to lay on his back in the grass beside Darren. It wasn’t worth explaining what he meant. It wouldn't change anything, and didn’t matter.

They were quiet for a few minutes, listening to the chatter of the other people around them, small children screaming and laughing, and beneath that the sounds of city traffic.

“Just because it isn’t what you spend most of your time doing, that doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

Chris turned his head and looked to see Darren staring back at him, his face still untroubled and gentle.

“Maybe it’s _because_ of all the other shit we have to do, but this feels pretty real to me. I don’t know, but I think when I’m with you, it’s more real than anything else.” Chris lets Darren take one of his hands and twine their fingers together to rest on top of Darren’s stomach. The sun-warmed cotton of his worn t-shirt was soft against the tender skin on the inside of Chris’ wrist. “And the rest, it is changeable, you know. You just have to want it bad enough.” 

Chris wasn’t sure he believed that. He guessed he’d have to let Darren believe it for the both of them. 

“What would they do if we just didn’t come back?” He asked again after a few minutes had gone by. He tried to imagine it behind his closed eyelids, and grinned up at the sky.

“Sue our sorry asses. Come with torches and pitch forks.”

Chris giggled quietly. “Brian would disown me.”

“We’d find a way to slip in, in the dead of night, and then smuggle him out of the country inside a backpack. The dog would be harder.”

“Mmm,” he agreed. “Ryan would definitely send a search party. And the fangirls on Tumblr would take online courses in crime scene investigation. Assumed identities wouldn’t save us, we’d be found out no matter how much hair you grew on your face.”

Yeah.” Darren admitted with a long sigh. “Guess we’ll just have to go back and face the music then, huh?” He sat up and rubbed a few blades of grass out of his hopeless curls. “You about ready to get out of here?”

Chris sat back up with a groan. “Sure.” _Never._

He took another look around the park. The moment was too perfect not to be remembered. “Hey, give me your phone for a sec.” He hadn’t been taking his when they went anywhere. There was nothing but messages from people whose tones ranged from worried to annoyed to outright angry on there anyway. “It really is beautiful here. The light is just… different somehow.”

Chris held out his hand for the phone, when he didn't immediately pass it into his hand, he looked back to see Darren holding it up facing himself. "Smile!" 

Chris heard the quiet electronic shutter sound of a picture being taken. 

“It really is. Beautiful.” Darren turned the phone around to face him.

Chris rolled his eyes and snatched the phone away, turning and snapping a photo on his own. 

\----

Darren played with the tiny gift in his pocket that he had sneakily purchased earlier in the day, while Chris had been thoroughly absorbed in choosing what kind of cookies to buy for their picnic. It was cliché and completely nerdy and he loved it. He only hoped Chris would accept the gift and what it entailed. You never knew which way it was going to go with Chris, and things like this made Darren nervous in a way that he wasn't accustomed to feeling.

They'd gone down to the closest pub for dinner, one last round of rich food and excitable chatter with the locals. Their bags were packed for the most part, only the last minute essentials spread around the bedroom which had been their temporary home. Chris was doing a walk-through to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything. They'd called and arranged for taxis to drive Darren first, and then Chris, a few hours later, to the airport.

"Looks like that's about it." Chris walked back into the room where Darren sat on the unmade bed in the middle of the controlled chaos of their packing. 

_Now or never._ "Not quite," Darren told him, digging the item out of his pocket and placing it on top of the folded clothes inside Chris' suitcase. The keychain with a little red, old fashioned telephone booth had two shiny silver, brand new keys attached, one to the apartment door and the other to the back gate. 

Chris' wide eyes looked up from the keys to Darren's face, his anxiety poorly hidden by a shrug. "In case you decide you want to come back. You'll be here for a while for filming, and you know, hotels." Darren let out a long slow breath, not knowing how to say how much he wanted to think of Chris _here_ when he can't be. When they are separated by an entire ocean for weeks, months, when it's other people escorting Chris around the city, being able to picture him in a place that now has bits of them imprinted all over it.

He doesn't miss the way Chris' fingers twitch where his arms hang down by his sides, but he doesn't reach out for the keys. 

Darren shuffles forward on the bed putting less physical space between them while he can. "You don't have to stay here like all the time or anything. I know most of the time you'll be working and there will be other people with you. But if you just need to get away or whatever. We've made some pretty decent memories here." He pats the mattress and quirks his eyebrows in a way that always makes Chris laugh. 

It works. Chris snickers, shaking his head at the ridiculous man in front of him. He reaches out and wraps his fingers around the keychain, catching it up in his palm. Darren grins in response and moves up on his knees to meet him hallway when Chris leans down and their mouths touch between them. 

It’s late, edging steadily closer to midnight when they take Darren’s guitar out into the backyard to sit until they’re ready to sleep. The sky has clouded over since the sunny afternoon, but there’s a light breeze that blows through their hair as they sit back to back in the dewy grass. Neither of them are ready to say goodbye, and so they don’t, they go on pretending like this is any other night, and they’ll be right back in that spot tomorrow. 

“Play me something. Make it good.”

_Oh, no pressure._

Darren’s brow creases deeply as he thinks. The titles and lyrics of literally hundreds of songs scroll through his mind as he considers and discards each melody in turn. What could possibly fit this moment that is so happy and mournful all at once? Nothing feels quite right, and Chris probably wouldn’t appreciate a musical ode to his ass at the moment. Darren smirks, it’d be easy to rhyme though…

It’s like as soon as he stops reaching for the tune that he wants, his fingers automatically begin strumming the chords. 

_I can't see the stars anymore living here_  
 _Let's go to the hills where the outlines are clear_

_Bring on the wonder_  
 _Bring on the song_  
 _I pushed you down deep in my soul for too long_

Things can’t go back to how they were. He can’t let it. It doesn’t matter what happens once he gets home. Living his life with Chris at arm’s length, isn’t living. No matter what kind of dreams he thought he had, they can’t be worth the feeling of only being half awake and stumbling over everything. Not when he knows what the other way of living feels like.

_I fell through the cracks at the end of our street_  
 _Let's go to the beach, get the sand through our feet_

_Bring on the wonder_  
 _We got it all wrong_  
 _We pushed you down deep in our souls for too long_

He draws in a shaking breath when his eyes feel too hot in their sockets. Chris’ head presses down against the back of his neck.

_I don't have the time for a drink from the cup_  
 _Let's rest for a while 'til our souls catch us up_

_Bring on the wonder_  
 _We got it all wrong_  
 _We pushed you down deep in our souls, so hang on_

_Bring on the wonder_  
 _Bring on the song_  
 _I pushed you down deep in my soul for too long_

Darren felt himself shaking, he didn’t know why or how to stop it. It was going to be hard, so hard, and he didn’t know what was going to happen. But it was time, past time. It was time to face all of this.

And maybe he could, if…

Two strong arms wound tightly around his shoulders from behind. “Let’s go inside, Dare.” The soft voice murmured into his ear and took the guitar from his trembling hands. He let himself be pulled up from the ground and taken back into a place that he felt safe and untouchable.

Let them all judge him. It’d be worth it.


	15. The Letter - Chris

Chris thought he had mentally prepared himself for the inevitable shock of returning to the semi-structured life he had built for himself back in Los Angeles, but as he unlocked and stepped through his door, he knew just how wrong he’d been. Pulling the suitcase in behind him and turning to lock the door, the second thing he notices (after how the air inside his own home now feels alien in his own lungs) is the post-its. Little yellow sticky notes lined up in neat rows stuck to the wall where they’d be unmissable. It was an odd quirk that his assistant had picked up after Chris had ignored ten or fifty too many texts. He needed a more tangible reminder of things than a few lines of text across a four inch screen. He laughs to himself and plucks three off the top row. 

“I’m back! Hey, guys! Come see me!” The sound of nails across hardwood gives Chris just a few seconds warning before he is bowled over by an excitable ball of blonde fur. He sits right down on the floor in the entry way and lets the dog welcome him home. He doesn’t take any offence to the fact that it’s a solo greeting, he knows that it will take much groveling, opened cans of salmon, and apologies to make his cat excuse a sudden two week long absence. He doesn’t hold it against the guy in the slightest.

He does eventually make it upstairs with his bags, shirt now sufficiently covered in dog hair, a stack of mail held under one arm, and well aware of the many calls he needs to make. But it can all wait. The twelve hours on the plane had been tedious and uneventful, but hadn’t been the place to decompress. Who brings a teething, fussy, baby on an international flight anyway? Aren’t there laws against that? If not, what congressional members does he need to write to make that happen? He hauled his suitcase onto the foot of the bed and immediately sprawls out lengthways beside it, legs hanging off the side. Chris closes his eyes against the world and breathes. 

The instant his eyelids meet, it isn’t darkness he finds behind them, but technicolor toned flashes of everything that had happened in the past three weeks. The events and memories were so inescapable that he knew he would never be able to turn them off now, maybe with time he’d find something to throw over them to mute the intensity of it all. It was the best he could hope for under what he considered the circumstances to be. 

He didn’t regret it, he couldn’t. Maybe allowing himself to drown in so much of the impossible had been a mistake, and so he _should_ regret it, but the stubborn rightness that had overtaken him after he’d said _“I love you”_ wouldn’t allow him to. Recalling the words brought the rubbed-raw, anxiety-ridden, rightness back to him in a wave. Those thoughts lead to dimly-lit dance floors, which brought back to the salty taste of sweat on skin, that only spiraled into sparkling hazel eyes dancing up from underneath him, and all of it set to the soundtrack of husky, quiet laughter that would likely haunt him forever, and he suddenly couldn’t lay still. Unpacking then, that was somewhat productive. 

Chris sprang up from the bed and unzipped the suitcase beside him. He knew there were a million things he needed to be doing right now, it was still early enough to start making the calls and going through the dozens of emails he had avoided like they carried the plague, but he couldn’t bear to break his solitude just yet. So this would have to do for a source of momentary busy work. If Chris hadn’t been such a meticulous suitcase packer, he probably wouldn’t have noticed the out of place ball of fabric as quickly as he did. Then again, he was pretty confident that he didn’t own anything that obnoxious color of neon green. Wedged into the corner beside a neatly folded stack of jeans, the balled up pair of socks stood out like a beacon against the blue denim and black nylon lining of the bag. Picking them up, he notices that inside the socks sits a small roll of paper. Removing it and unrolling, Chris finds that it is two folded up sheets of lined notebook paper, one edge jagged from where they had been torn free from the metal spiral, the others so tattered and worn that it looked like the notebook they’d been torn from had been through a war zone. In a sense maybe it had, there was always a certain element of chaos to that man’s life.

Chris sat on the bed again, folding his legs underneath him and began to scan his eyes across the scrawled, wide-spaced letters written across the page.

_This place is amazing, but I couldn’t live here. I’d weigh about three hundred and fifty pounds, and the radio station only plays synth pop and Adele. That’s great and all, but man can not live on bread and intense emotions alone. You’re not meant to be reading this until you are back home safe and sound, FYI. So if you get anal in the morning and start repacking your already packed bag, fuck you!_

_I guess it won’t matter much if you know what I have to say in four hours or twenty four either way, but you get an image of how you want things to happen in your mind. When I conceptualize you reading this you’re home, you’re in your room with Brian sitting on the bed beside you wondering why in the hell I stuffed a pair of my socks into your suitcase. They’re clean, don’t worry._

Chris smirked. He wasn’t too far off, but Brian would never come near him after being gone for so long right away. Chris would have to make serious amends first. No one holds grudges like a cat.

_You’re supposed to have that crease between your eyebrows that you get when something puzzles you or you’re concentrating really hard on something. I’m hoping for the latter because I need you to hear me._

_I know that I am an overgrown child a lot of the time. I own it. Being here with you, being able to just let go and not be looking over my shoulder every time I feel the need to make you laugh or take your hand, it’s spoiled me, Chris. I don’t want to go back to seeing you every day, but only seeing **you** every few weeks when the schedules and stars align enough for the us to be able to get a fix. I’m way too addicted for that. I want to be able to stand too close to you, whether it be in front of a hundred cameras or in the line at the supermarket. I don’t want to have to pretend not to know exactly what you look like when you’re naked, hair a wreck, cum-dumb out of your mind until you pass out. You look like that right this second by the way. I think you might even be drooling a little. I won’t turn on the light in the bedroom to look. Don’t worry, you look great. You always look amazing to me._

_You are the most fascinating, smart, sexiest guy I have ever met, and I want to be able to act like the goofy schmuck who is madly in love with you that I am._

_I know that saying I want it and doing something about it are two very different things, I’m not kidding myself about the fact that this is going to be a shit storm, but I know that I’m ready enough to want this, want you, all of it. I made some calls to some folks who are more than a little perturbed with me. By the time you’re home I will have already met with all the key players and told them what I want and find out what I have to do to make this happen._

_Yes, yes, Chris, I’ll do what I can to cover my own ass. I just know that I’ll never be happy ‘living the dream’ if I’m not living it as myself. I don’t know for sure what’s going to happen, or how long this will take, but that thought of being able to be **me** on the other side would be worth just about anything they could put me through. And then there’s you, who I hope will be waiting for me when I get there. Even if you’re not, which would suck by the way, I need to do this. I see that more clearly than I ever have before. _

_I guess this is just one more thing that I will have to thank you for, for giving me the kick in the ass I needed to be able to grow the pair I needed to stand up to them all. Thank you, Babe._

_Now I am going to crawl back into bed with you and enjoy the… shit, twenty two whole minutes I have until it’s time to get up and get ready for my flight. Something tells me I’ll need all of them._

_Wish me luck,  
Darren_

Chris took a deep breath and crinkled the pages in his fist. His pulse was pounding in his ears and his mouth felt dry. He was terrified for Darren. And for himself. What had he done? What had he _said_?

He dug his phone from his back pocket and switched it back on, ignoring all the message alerts that popped up, and navigating to the contacts with a shaky hand. His finger hovered over the call button. Would Darren be alone? What if he was still with them? No, no, calling was a bad idea. He fired off a rapid text.

**You met w/ them? Are you okay? What happened? Call me.**

Chris sat the phone on the bed next to him, figuring he’d be waiting a while for a response. He’d only taken the first handful of clothing out of his suitcase when his cell phone chimed with a new message. 

**Can I come over?**

He snorted. _Now_ he asks for permission? Typical. Rolling his eyes, he types out a quick reply. 

****No, Darren. I never want to see your ugly mug again… Of course, idiot. Get over here!** **

He fishes his charger out of the side pocket of his suitcase, plugs it into the outlet on the wall and sets his phone to charge. He leaves the rest of the clothes in the bag, post-its stuck to the wall, calls unreturned, mail unopened, and rushes downstairs to order them something to eat and wait. 


	16. Closer - Darren and Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So part of the beta process of this chapter was Lynne and Zinnia having to call me and the three of us having a fifteen minute long debate about how to refer to Darren's... inland.
> 
> You're welcome.

It was like crashing head first into a concrete wall. Soaring along in a high the likes of which he isn't sure that he had ever achieved by smoking any plant, drinking any liquor, or any other substance he had encountered in his twenty seven years. Only the steady drum of Chris' heartbeat and his own single minded determination could bring him there. Darren had departed the airport filled to the brim with conviction, not even going home before he had arranged to meet with his manager, publicist, and their assorted lackeys in an office space he kept downtown a few hours later.

Darren was going to put his foot down. The games, the image building, he'd had enough. Having spent the entire flight home, going over and over just what he wanted to say, he felt strong, ready and prepared for what he needed to say. 

What he hadn't been prepared for was not getting a chance to say more than a few words before being spectacularly shot down and verbally forced to sit down and shut up.

"Ironclad" and "Recklessness" followed by "Breach of contract" and "Three year term" were all hurled at him like bricks. Each one blasting a hole is his tenuous resolve. 

“You’d be throwing away everything that not only you, but the people who have busted their asses to help get you to where you are now, have been building for years. You know that.”

He did, and he’s fucking _sorry_. But…

“I really thought you were smarter than this.”

Maybe he’s not, maybe he isn’t smart enough to know anything aside from how he felt.

There is an odd sense of deja vu as he stands outside of Chris’ door yet again. Whereas the last time he’d stood in this spot he had felt compelled and pulled to the man inside by a force he couldn’t identify, this time, even though he was welcome and expected, he knew exactly what was holding him back. Darren knew that he’d never felt less like knocking on a door in his life.

The fact of the matter was Darren had failed. Everything he had sought out to do was ultimately for nothing. He was tied up so tightly in the suffocating red tape of his life that he didn’t know when, or if, he would ever be free of it. And now he stood there, preparing to tell that to the one person who had made him feel strong enough to fight back against that tide of constriction and falsehoods. He’d been a fool to think that simply by walking in there and saying that he was tired of pretending that it would have any real impact upon the money-driven machine that ruled that side of his life. If anything, he’d made things worse. His time away and disregard for the careful rules they had set in place, would make them tighten the reigns and keep him under closer watch. He’d pay for the pleasure he’d stolen away. If Darren was sure of anything, it was that. 

Four raps of his knuckles against the same wooden door. 

“Just a second. Cooper, cut it out!” When Chris throws the door open, half stooped over with a hand holding on tightly to the dog’s collar, he is still laughing, his eyes squinted by his smile and bright blue that put the summer sky overhead to shame. He struggles to keep the puppy from running out the door as he steps back to let Darren inside. “Hey. You look- Have you even slept?”

He looks so happy and casually beautiful that it makes Darren feel like turning around and running away to his car to shield them both from the bitter disappointment that Darren is bringing in with him. That he is. “Uh, I…” The words die in his throat and he has to cough a couple of times to be able to get anything out. “No, not yet.”

He watches Chris’ eyes scan over his face, knowing how quickly observations were cycled into ideas and assumptions inside Chris’ ever-churning mind.

Darren knows his eyes must be giving it all away, but he’s powerless to stop the gnawing guilt from escaping through his eyes. It’s all he can do to not allow actual tears out along with it. 

“Darren.” Chris’ posture has straightened up until he stands rigid and his voice carefully calm. “What happened? What did they say to you?”

He can’t, he just can’t. Darren walks past him and into the living room where he begins to pace the length of the space. This isn’t how this was supposed to turn out! It’s just not. “I thought they’d listen to me. I don’t know why the fuck I was so naive, but I just thought… _Shit_. I don’t know what I thought.” He glances over to see that Chris has sat down on the arm of the couch, staring at him with nothing but quiet concern. He didn’t get it. He just didn’t freaking get it. Chris is supposed to be angry and upset and frustrated and… everything that Darren was feeling right then. “I’m such an idiot! If anything I made it all worse. Taking off like that? They’re pissed, Chris. There is no way in hell that they’re letting me out of anything any time soon. And after everything that happened, everything we said, that I said…” He pulls at his hair and looks over at Chris again. 

“Do you regret anything you said? Or did?” Chris’ voice seems too quiet and level for the swirling emotions coursing through Darren’s body.

Darren feels anger overtake everything else. “No! How in the fuck could you even ask me that?”

“It sucks, I know that it does. But this thing you do, it’s nothing new. Will you hold still for a minute and listen to me?” Chris waits for Darren to stop pacing, wraps his arms tightly across his own chest as though he has to physically stop himself from shaking apart. “This doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t erase or negate anything that’s happened between us. Why does what they think or make you do even have to matter? You’re an actor, Darren. So go act.” 

“Why does it…?” Darren lets out a pained sound that vibrates from up within his bones, his feet, without his brain telling them to, set back into pacing a hole into Chris’ living room floor. “It matters because I want to be with you and I can’t. Not now, and God only knows when. Not like I want to be. I let myself believe it, really just let myself get attached to the idea for one second and then here we are, back to square fucking one. And it’s always going to be like this, Chris! I can’t do a goddamn thing about it! You should just,” he has to swallow down the bile that rises in his throat at the next thought that he knows is going to come spewing out of his lips, even as his mind tells him to just _shut the fuck up already_. “You should find somebody who can really be with you. Someone like…” Nope, he’s not saying that no matter how pissed off and emotionally wrung out he feels. “Someone different. Better for you. Better than I'll ever be.” Getting those last words out seems to take all the steam out of him and Darren feels his body slump against the wall.

\----

He watches the catastrophe that those bastards have made of the man he lives and breathes for pace across his floor until anger clouds his concern and Chris just can't stand it a moment longer.

"Stop it," he hisses, striding across the room to clench Darren's shaking shoulders in a too tight grip that he otherwise would have felt badly about. But not right now. "I do not want to hear that kind of shit from you. If I wanted to be with someone else, I would be. It's not like either one of us are lacking in offers and you know it." He waits until Darren's liquid eyes finally meet his before saying anything more. "When I close my eyes the first thing my mind pulls up is you, _always you_. There isn't anything I could do to change that if I wanted to, but it just so happens that I don't. I am every bit as in this as you are. So man up, and deal with that." Chris knows that his voice and eyes are hard even as his heart feels bruised and bleeding over the hurt and defeat in Darren's face. This is his, it's theirs, and he'll be damned if he lets any greedy, corporate assholes take it away from him. 

"Angel, I-"

Chris cuts the shaken words off with his lips, firm and final against Darren's. No one is taking this.

He feels it when Darren lets his weight slump down to settle against his, and Chris wraps his arms around the other man’s waist and holds him up. “Just breathe, okay? This doesn’t change anything for me.” 

Darren keeps his face buried into Chris’ shoulder, but Chris can feel it when he shakes his head in disagreement. “It’s a fucking nightmare.”

“It’s _our_ fucking nightmare. And I’ll take it. Whatever we can have has got to be better than anything else out there. Haven’t we both proven that enough by now?” Darren’s hair is damp with sweat and he smells like the inside of an airplane still, but Chris presses his lips to the heated skin behind his ear. “I’d rather have your nightmare than anyone else’s dream, because at least I can feel it,” he whispers the words against the skin and closes his eyes tightly. All that matters is safely inside the walls of his home right this very moment, and the rest of the world can just go to hell.

He drags them both to fall into an intertwined heap on the couch, disturbing Brian’s napping spot in the process. He’d have to fix things with his cat later. There were more pressing matters at hand. The cat skulks away to fume under the kitchen table, while Chris curls himself up around Darren and lets both of their breathing calm.

Things had always been one step forward and three steps back with them, it had always gone back and forth. He couldn’t expect so much to change and intensify between them as it had in the last three weeks to come without roadblocks. That wasn’t how life worked, at least not his anyway. He rests his chin on top of Darren’s messy black curls, they were way past due for a trim. Not to mention his face. “You’re starting to look like a miniature Paul Bunyan,” he remarked lightly, making Darren snort out a breath of a chuckle and rub his bearded chin across the exposed skin above the collar of Chris’ t-shirt. 

“I’m a lazy ass. Plus I’ve had other things on my mind.”

“Hmm.” Chris feels more contentment in this one minute pocket of time than he’d likely encounter in a week once Darren has gone away where he couldn’t smell, breathe, and feel him again. He wouldn’t let anything take these moments away, he needed this too badly.

The mood settles, they talk about nothing, and eat room temperature Chinese takeout, that Chris had had delivered before Darren had shown up at his door, straight out of the cardboard cartons. When he breaks open his crumbly fortune cookie, the small slip of white paper reads _“We cannot direct the wind but we can adjust the sails”_ Chris giggles to himself. He places the tiny slip of paper into his wallet, and looks back up to catch Darren kneeling on the floor beside the table in the kitchen pushing slimy hunks of orange chicken in Brian’s direction. “You’re wiping that up.”

“Cat saliva is completely organic. Get with the times, Colfer.”

Chris just rolls his eyes and finishes throwing the empty takeout carton in the trash. He walks and stands behind Darren, who has now tempted Brian out of his hiding place and into his lap, giving him an easy scratch behind the ears. The only sounds are the low rumble of Brian’s purrs and the distant noise of cars driving down the street in front of Chris’ house. Darren leans back against his knees and tilts his head to look up at him with a squinty-eyed grin. “You know, I think he likes me more than you.”

“He isn’t angry at _you_ for leaving him for two weeks.” Chris isn’t too big of a man to admit that the sight of his cat cradled in Darren’s arms makes his stomach flip with the simple warm domesticity of it all. Even if he did feel the slightest bit of jealousy in the pit of his stomach that his pet wanted nothing whatsoever to do with him. But then again, Darren has that effect on people. So why not animals, too? “Maybe you should stick around for a few more days, be a mediator between us if need be. If Brian says it’s okay.” He nudges Darren’s back with his knee. “When do you have to leave for D.C.?”

Darren blinks up at him from behind his glasses for a moment like he had to work to think about it. “Saturday. Saturday… afternoon?”

“You don’t sound sure?” Chris wanted him to stay, of course. But they hadn’t been home in weeks, and God knew they both had plenty of crap to catch up on.

“I’m sure.” Darren smiles and pecks a kiss to Chris’ leg through his jeans. “You hear that, buddy? Your furry ass is sleeping on the floor!” Darren sounds nothing short of ecstatic as he holds Brian up Lion King-style and nuzzles his face into the cat’s fur. 

When they are both unable to put it off any longer, Darren leaves to go home for the first time since before he left for his flight overseas, to check things out and gather some fresh clothes. He kisses Chris’ lips so soundly at the door that his mouth and chin are still tinged with red and his toes curl reflexively into the carpet for an hour after Darren leaves. He uses the time to return a couple of the phone calls he had been avoiding for weeks.

Yes, he’s home. Yeah Mom, it was a great vacation. No, he didn’t do a whole lot… except Darren. The last bit goes unsaid.

Hi, Han! Of course he’s missed you. He’ll try and make it up there soon. Soon-ish. Maybe Mom and Dad can come down here for a weekend. He has a lot to tell you. Oh! And you have to meet the dog!

He owes his assistant dinner. No, no this weekend is no good for him. He has… plans. Next week though, for sure. They have so much work to catch up on. 

He puts off the call to his publicist. She doesn’t believe in short conversations, knows where he went and with who, and he’ll never get off the phone. He’ll face to face her again sooner or later, but he’s going to choose later. 

Chris grabs a shower and spends time reassembling his life after living out of the suitcase for the past two weeks. He would've made a lousy rock star, living on the road just wasn’t his thing. Chris is nearly done putting things away into the proper drawers when his phone chimes with a text. 

**I can’t wait to see you.**

He scrunches up his nose with a grin that would have been embarrassing had anyone other than his dog been around to see it. 

**You left an hour ago.**

The reply back was immediate. 

**Wrong, I left an hour and thirty-seven minutes ago.**

Chris laughs out loud into the empty bedroom. He begins to type in a smartass retort, when he sees Darren typing again. 

**That’s about an hour and twenty-two minutes too long. So yeah, I’m on my way back.**

Good.

Later that night as they lay in Chris’ bed, he lets his fingers trace out the contours of Darren’s face, his cheek bones, the dark smudge of his eye lashes, his kissed-red, full lower lip that might have looked disproportionate on any other face. The collection of these features that made up the most expressive, gorgeous face that Chris had ever seen. He loved this man, loved him as much as he knew himself to be capable of loving anyone. And maybe their relationship couldn’t be the one that he would have chosen for himself, can’t be everything he would've liked it to be. But Darren was his choice, and he’d take whatever kind of life they could have together over anything else. They wouldn’t be perfect, but they could make one another feel that perfection was possible in a touch, or a kiss, or even a smile shared across a crowded room...

Darren was already hard, his erection rubbing wet smears onto Chris’ stomach while they claimed the territory of each other’s mouths as theirs and theirs alone. Chris smiled a final chaste peck onto Darren’s chin and then made to crawl down his body, grabbing the bottle of lube along the way. He settled between Darren’s legs, running his hands up along the tender insides of his thighs, spreading them wider beneath his grip. Chris couldn’t help but trace the pronounced line of his hip bones with the tip of his nose, dropping a kiss to the shiny, red head of his cock in between. The sound that single kiss drew out of Darren, forced him to smother a smile. The sound of the plastic cap on the bottle being flipped open was loud in the otherwise quiet room as he made quick work of slicking up two of his fingers, dropping small kisses into the dark thatch hair that surrounded Darren’s dick. 

“Babe, just… Come on.” Darren was propped up on his elbows staring down at him. Of course he was. Darren always liked to watch. 

Chris winked up at him and ran his wet fingers down the crack of that unbelievable round ass until they reached his tiny, brownish pink hole. He began to circle and tease the muscle there, he’d always loved the way the slightest pressure could make it spasm and jump underneath his fingertips. Darren groaned loudly at the teasing and dropped his head back. Chris lowered his head and began to suck kisses up the swollen shaft of his cock to the head, before sinking down over it and taking just a couple of inches of the thick flesh into his mouth. He sucked gently, bobbing his head a few times before pulling back off and licking his way down to the heavy balls underneath. There was no spot on Darren’s body that smelled as strongly as he did right there, and Chris didn’t hesitate to press his nose right up against the wrinkled sweaty skin and inhale deeply through his nose. Sweat and sex and man, the smell of which ignited the neurons in his brain and fired small jolts of pleasure straight down to his own throbbing erection, laying neglected against the sheets. He laps at Darren’s balls, moving one and then the other around with his tongue, sucking the delicate skin into his mouth as he finally presses one finger slowly into Darren’s ass.

“Holy mother of _fuck_!”

If it were possible to smile with a ball in your mouth, Chris is sure he would have, as it is he only lets out a deep hum that vibrates directly into Darren’s body. He works the finger in and out, letting the clenching muscles adjust, a few times before pulling it out and pressing back in with two. 

Darren’s growly moans echo throughout the room, and Chris is thankful once again that he lives alone. The man is _loud_. He sets about thoroughly stretching Darren, seeking out the spot inside that makes him melt as he suckles at the head of his cock. Their eyes meet as Chris looks up to find Darren staring at him, mouth opening and panting. He is so perfect like this, body relaxing and tensing in perfectly timed rolling waves with the seeking movement of Chris’ fingers and wet mouth. Maybe Chris can’t solve all of Darren’s problems for him, but he can show him how beautiful and natural this part of him is, that it is nothing to be ashamed of or hidden away, no matter what the rest of the world thinks.

His fingers curl against the nerves with purpose as Chris sinks his mouth down over Darren’s dick taking him in all the way to the back of his throat. He coughs a little, lips stretched wide. Darren’s thighs shake as he starts to lose it above him from the dual sensations. 

“Chris, wait, don’t. I’m-”

He pulls off and takes a shaking breath. “I know. Go ahead and come for me.”

Darren’s forehead creases with strain and confusion. “But I thought we, aren’t we going to…”

“We are. Just trust me, baby.” He dives back down onto Darren, hollowing out his cheeks as he sucks his way back up. Chris gently eases his fingers from his ass with a wet sucking sound, and fans both his hands out across the V of Darren’s hipbones, holding him steady and still. He relaxes his throat and focuses on breathing through his nose as the wide crown of the cock in his mouth presses and then enters his throat. He can vaguely hear Darren’s whines and curses, as he fights not to gag and swallows around him. It’s less than thirty seconds later that he feels the first bitter, warm gush of come hit the back of his throat, the roof of his mouth, and over his tongue. He works at swallowing it all until Darren flops back onto the mattress, his dick slipping out from between Chris’ lips. 

Chris smiles, his throat is a little sore and thank God it’s the off season, because he wouldn’t be able to sing for shit right now. He bends back down and begins to suck a small round mark onto Darren’s thigh like an artist signing his name to a masterpiece. A job well done.

Crawling up the bed, Chris grabs the water bottle he’d sat on the nightstand on their way up to the bedroom. He takes a long drink and reaches to offer the bottle to Darren, only to see that the man had pulled a pillow over his face. “You okay under there?” 

“Can’t. Feel. Appendages.”

Chris laughs and runs a hand through his own sweaty hair, scraping it back off his forehead. “Yeah, I know, I’m kind of awesome.”

“Humble, too.”

Chris snatches the pillow off from over Darren’s face and leans down and kisses his lips sideways. It’s messy and inefficient, but when Darren’s tongue licks into his mouth to slide across his, it makes his all but forgotten about erection, twitch against his thigh. 

Darren’s hands grapple for his shoulders and pull him down onto the bed, knocking the open bottle of water onto the floor. Oh well, that’s why they invented towels.

“What do you want?” Darren's lips veritably devoured his neck, licking off the traces of sweat and sucking Chris' adam's apple between his lips, making Chris' head spin dizzily. "Just tell me what you want, Chris."

“You.” Chris’ answer is sure and immediate. He needs to be inside of him. Needs to feel all of Darren’s body around him and in his arms and tight, wet, perfect. He knows Darren just came, but that only means that Chris can take his time and enjoy every ounce of it.

He grabs the condom packet off the nightstand, having it immediately plucked from his fingers.

“Nope. My job.” Darren grins and tears the foil square open with his teeth. He takes the circle of latex out, dropping the wrapper carelessly onto the bed. Chris moves to sit up against the headboard and watches Darren crawl to sit cross legged in front of him on the bed. He takes Chris’ hard cock into his hand and begins to stroke him in firm, even pulls. His eyes are bright and reflect the tiny amount of light that comes in from the window outside, and Chris absently wishes he’d turned on the lamp so that he could see more of him, but is so transfixed by the sure movement of Darren’s hand and the way he was staring at him like Chris was the only thing in the world that he’d ever wanted. 

“I love you, and I don’t know why you would, but I think that you love me back. I’m going to try like hell to never make you sorry that you do.” How on earth can the man make Chris’ heart melt even as he is in the process of sliding a condom onto his cock? How can he just _bleed_ sincerity and truth with his hand moving on Chris’ dick? 

Chris winds his arms around Darren’s neck and starts pressing him backwards down onto the bed. He needs this man, needs his heart, and smile, and corny jokes, his ass, and his guitar player's calloused hands, and his voice singing in the shower, and his ugly socks. He needs Darren. _Now_.

Chris kisses Darren breathless, hovering over him and gripping one firm ass cheek in his hand. “Still good?” He checks in a whisper, his eyes locked onto Darren’s face.

“I’m great.” Darren’s surges up and reattaches their lips. 

Chris nods and resettles himself to sit back on his knees on the bed. He pulls Darren closer by the hips, lifting the other man half onto his lap, with Darren's back and shoulders still flat on the bed. He lines up the head of his dick to Darren’s stretched hole and pulls him forward. The entrance is slow. Chris takes his time and feels it at the latex covered head of his cock passes through first one and then the second tight ring of muscle, until he is lost in the hot, pulsing warmth of Darren’s ass. The high-pitched moan he lets slip from his lips would have been embarrassing if his lover had been anyone else, but Darren just licks his lips and lets his chin drop to his chest as he breathes through the burn. Chris isn’t small, he may not have Darren’s wide girth, but he’s long and presses deeply into Darren’s compact body. Chris' hands hold the curve of his waist as he seats himself fully inside the other man.

He opens his mouth, feeling his jaw tremble at the feeling of Darren around him as he tries to speak. “S-sit up for me?”

Darren groans, using Chris’ arms for leverage as he pulls himself to sit upright on Chris’ lap. He wobbles a little before gripping one of Chris’ forearms and one of his shoulders tightly. The feeling of Darren spread out on his lap, fully impaled on his dick makes Chris clench his eyes shut and breathe through the overwhelming urge to just fuck up into that sweet tightness until he explodes. But this wasn’t about him getting off, this was about them being as close as two people can physically be and wringing every drop of pleasure out of the incredible way two male bodies can fit together. Darren’s hairy legs bracketing his hips, his heaving, sweaty chest pressed against Chris’, his soft lips and the scrape of his beard against Chris’ forehead. 

“Yeah?” Darren’s voice was hoarse and thick and he stared down at the man holding his entire weight on his lap, but at least he _had_ a voice. Chris could only nod his assent as Darren began to rock his hips in a slow back and forth.

It was slow, more grinding than thrusting. Chris couldn’t bear to not be fully buried as far as possible inside of him, for even a fraction of a second. The way Darren looked above him, wet curls hanging down into his eyes and moving with the rocking of their bodies, golden eyes catching the security light from outside the window, fuck, he was glorious. His hands slid up and down the rippling muscles between Darren’s shoulders and the swell of his ass, cupping, holding, caressing. His hands were just as hungry for that damp, tan skin, as his cock and his mouth, they couldn’t get enough. 

It was intimate and hot and Chris lost all mental functionality outside of _Darren, mine, more_. And by the time he noticed that Darren’s cock had swelled back up to it’s full length, bouncing between their bodies, and that Darren was fisting himself in sharp, rapid tugs, Chris was too helpless to do anything but grasp his hips and force himself up, in, in, three more times before he fell apart and came into the condom with a choking gasp. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around Darren, getting elbowed in the chest as Darren tried to jerk himself to a climax. 

“Shit, just… Ah, Chris!” 

Chris could hear him, but that sound seemed to be coming from some distance away, a place removed from the fact that all that mattered was keeping Darren close to him, connected to him, and _here_. He didn’t realize Darren had come all over the both of them and was probably getting uncomfortable as hell and over sensitive, not until he felt fingers under his chin lifting his face. He also didn’t feel the single tear that slipped from the corner of his right eye until Darren was leaning down to him and licking the drop of saline away with the tip of his tongue. 

“You’re okay, Angel. We’re good.”

They were, and they would be.


	17. Anything - Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another interesting beta experience. There was much talk of cartoon talking assholes, and mystery slurping. Be forewarned.

Waking up alone in a cold bed was not Darren’s ideal way to start off the new day. He’d fallen asleep with his arm and a leg slung across Chris’ body, snuggled up into his warmth and smell of laundry detergent and sex. Even though there was no one around to see it, his lower lip poked out into a full-on pout. He knew he’d have to face loneliness and separation soon enough, but to be denied the comfort of his lover’s body now was simply inexcusable. 

He sat up on the edge of the bed, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. Darren needed a shower based upon the dried body fluids that clung to his skin, but he needed to track down Chris’ location far more. He found a pair of his sweatpants in his bag and pulled them on before walking out of the bedroom. 

Cooper is chewing on a rawhide bone in the hallway. “Hey, dude. Where’s your Dad, huh? He skip out on both of us?” Darren reaches down and rubs at the dog’s floppy ears. He starts down the stairs with the dog on his heels and it’s then that he hears the music. Rounding the corner, he sees Chris standing at the kitchen counter, his back to him. He’s dressed in a long sleeved t-shirt and looser than usual jeans, his hair wet from the shower, combed back out of his face, and unstyled. Quiet music plays from the open laptop on the table and Chris’ thin hips sway back and forth slowly as he works on something in front of him, laying on the counter. Darren leans against the doorway and watches him. He seems content and at ease in a way that Chris often doesn’t, and it makes Darren’s chest throb with happiness to see. 

“Don’t you ever sleep?” He speaks up finally, one can only stare at someone unbenounced to them for so long without verging into creeper territory. 

Chris smirks over his shoulder at him. “I sleep.” He informs Darren, turning and holding onto a pan of unbaked cinnamon rolls ready to be placed into the oven. “I just don’t sleep until noon like some people. Get the door for me.”

Darren walks over and pulls down the oven door for Chris to slide the metal pan inside, though it was easily a one man job. Once the rolls are in, and set to bake for twenty minutes, Chris loops his arms around Darren’s waist and presses a toothpaste-scented kiss to his lips. “I figured you needed the rest. You looked exhausted yesterday. There’s turkey bacon in the microwave and juice in the refrigerator. Get whatever you want.” Chris smiles and picks up his own glass of orange juice from the countertop and settles back at the table in front of his computer. 

“Turkey bacon, that is just wrong on multiple levels and you know it.” Darren sighs and grabs a glass for himself out of the cabinet. “So do you have anything on the agenda for today?” If Darren was a betting man, and he’d been known to be from time to time, he would have put money on the fact that Chris had piles of work piled up that he needed to get back to as soon as possible. And the fact that he was sitting at his computer only reaffirmed the suspicion. 

“As a matter of fact, I do. Or should I say we do.” Chris grinned and turned the laptop around so that the screen was facing Darren. He saw the red Netflix logo.

_Fuck he loved him._

They sat and picked over the single plate of turkey bacon between them. It still felt like a sacrilege to Darren, some things simply should not be imitated. As they waited for the cinnamon rolls to bake, Chris stirred the small tub of icing that came inside the cardboard tube with the end of a butter knife, and offered it to Darren to taste.

He eyed the sticky, partially watery looking white goo dripping from the end of the knife with a smirk. “You totally know what that looks like, don’t you?” 

Chris gives him a stern look, and steps around him to remove the hot rolls from the oven. “Not everything needs to be sexualized. Especially not my food.” He sets the pan on the counter to cool a little. Darren is rooted to the spot and hypnotized by the sight of Chris stirring the icing again and sucking a stray bit off of his finger. This really shouldn’t be sexy. It shouldn’t. But he feels his dick twitch in his pants anyway.

“You can’t tell me that it doesn’t look like you’re smearing jizz all over our breakfast right now.”

Chris snorts. “Brunch.”

“Brunch,” Darren concedes with a grin. He walks and stands behind Chris, hands resting lightly on his hips and his chin propped up on Chris’ shoulder. He artfully swirls the watery icing all over the cinnamon rolls while Darren noses along the side of his neck.

“Well, I can assure you that you will never mistake the two based on taste, at least. But wouldn’t that be a perfect world?” Chris jokes and licks the knife he’d used clean, with a wink, before extracting himself from Darren’s grasp to place the knife into the dishwasher.

Darren pouts his lips, he wasn’t finished cuddling yet. Chris walks back over holding two saucers in his hand. He pauses for a moment, eyeing the cinnamon rolls for what Darren knew would be the one with the most icing. He reached out and snatched up the one in the very middle before Chris could get the chance and took a big bite. “Actually,” he spoke with his mouth full, “I like the way you taste just fine.”

Chris snickers and grabs his own roll to take back to the table.

After brunch and a shower, the afternoon passes in a an easy blur of missed tv episodes, fingers caressing along arms, and necks, and the small of Chris’ back, with soft, sugar icing tasting kisses on the couch. Darren feels like he could stay in the spot he’s in forever and live a perfectly contented life, as Chris’ fingers wind individual curls around his fingers. As is often the case, Chris seems to be on a similar wavelength.

“What time do you need to leave tomorrow?” His voice is soft, barely audible over the sound of the tv.

“I need to get to the airport around 1:30, I fly out at 2.” He’d waited until the last minute to book his flight, and so he’d end up with a crazy out of the way layover in Detroit, but Darren figured that spending a few hours in a random airport would be worth it if it meant getting to spend an extra half a day with Chris. Then he would spend twenty four hours in D.C. for the benefit, before flying right back home. He wasn’t looking forward to it. It was a cause he felt passionately about and was more than happy to be a part of, but the idea of being separated from Chris right now was unsettling. It was such a silly response. A day was nothing compared to the extended periods of time they would soon have to go without seeing one another. He tightened his arm around the other man’s waist reflexively at the thought.

They fall quiet again, each lost in their own minds. Chris keeps playing soothingly with Darren’s curls until there is a sudden snagging pull. “Ow?” He complains without any real venom.

“Oh! Sorry.” Chris extracts his hand from Darren’s hair and sits up a little. They’ve been laying in the same spot for a few hours, and they could both do with a stretch. “It’s this stupid ring.”

“My ring is not stupid!” Darren pouts sitting up himself. He catches Chris’ hand wearing the thick silver band and pulls it into his lap to look at it. The ring sat higher on Chris’ third finger, just below the knuckle, than it did on his own middle finger where he had always worn it. It might not have fit him exactly, but Chris has worn it the entire time they’d been away without complaint. Every time he caught a conscious glimpse of it, stoking the burning that Darren felt inside himself for the other man just that much higher. “My ring is magical and amazing and all things good in the world, thank you very much.”

Chris was staring at Darren with thoughtful eyes, his head tilted to the side. He drew his hand back, and slipped the ring from his finger. Darren’s face must have showed the sense of confusion and hurt that bubbled up inside of him, because Chris hurried to explain. “You wear it for a little while. That way you can you can look down and see it while you’re gone, and I’ll know you’re coming back so that I can steal it again. Since it’s so amazing, of course.” Chris lifted Darren’s hand and slid the ring down over his knuckle and onto the finger where it usually sat. He bent his head and pressed a kiss to the skin-warmed metal. “It’s pathetic how much I’m going to miss you. But I know that you’re coming back. This won’t be like before.” 

Darren’s breath catches in his throat when he sees the steady truth in those stormy eyes. Chris is staring at him in a way that makes it look like he could will anything in the world to happen just by the conviction in his stare. “When we leave now we’re not _leaving_. We’re going to work, going to do the stuff we have to do, and then we’re coming back. Back here. I don’t want us to leave each other again, Darren.”

Darren wraps his hand around the back of Chris’ neck, holding onto him, pressing his promise into his skin. “We’re not. That shit is over. I’ll be right back.”

“Good.” 

_“I’ll be right back”_ is the vow and every breath of the _I love you_ that he knows Chris needs to hear, Darren knows it without ever being told.

It takes Chris time to consider Darren’s offer of _anything_ he wanted as they lay tangled up in the sheets. He’s been kissed and teased into a hard, leaking, mess of flesh and bones, and he just needs Chris to give him some cue, direction of how he wants this to go. _Before_ his mind short circuits, and he dies, would be nice.

The way Chris’ satiny lips work slow, slow, so slowly up the lines of muscle of his upper arm, to his shoulder, and then over his neck leaves him fighting a losing battle to stay still against the sheets. “I’ve decided what I want.” 

Darren closes his eyes to the thick whisper. _Anything._ God, he’d give him anything he could ever ask for and Chris knows it.

“I want to feel you after you’re gone tomorrow. You can make me feel it, right?”

Darren swallows around the lump in his throat, his hands twitch against the smooth planes of Chris’ back. “You might need to be a little more specific. Exactly how much do you want to feel?”

Chris’ midnight blue eyes seem to flash in the darkness, his smile is absolute wickedness. “Consider it a personal challenge.” 

_Well, okay then._ He pressed his lips to the side of Chris' face, the soft scrape of his sideburn tingling Darren's lips. 

Their relationship didn't often physically take them in this direction, it required a type of relaxed vulnerability that Chris didn't achieve easily. It was hard for him to let people in, both in a figurative and in this exact case, a literal sense, and Darren wasn't sure that anyone was ever granted access to everything within the man. But Darren was allowed closer than anyone else, and the significance of that fact wasn't lost on him. The trust and belief that Chris had placed in him was a gift that he would lay his life down to protect, what they had was worth everything to him. And it was time to show Chris that.

Laid out on the bed on his stomach, Chris was nothing but miles of creamy skin and lean muscle against the sandy-colored sheets. The slope of his back and rise of his round ass curving into legs that went on for miles. It was like he'd been put together by a master craftsman, not born and naturally grown. He was something out of a painting to be gazed at, upon a museum wall, to be stared at and worshipped from a safe distance, partitioned off by velvet ropes, and he was _his_. His to kiss and touch, break into a thousand pieces and put back together again. 

Darren crawls over him on all fours and attaches his mouth to the spot on the back of Chris' head where dark hair meets soft skin. He makes his way down the upper portion of the man's spine, sucking, scraping his teeth over the knobby bones, grinning inwardly at each shaking inhale, anxious spasm in Chris' legs, and restless noise. The fair skin always marks up and colors so easily as the blood flows through the veins and tiny capillaries under Chris' skin, Darren's hands and lips bringing pink or red patches up to decorate the canvas of white. He makes time for each of the tiny moles and freckles on his way, purposefully drawing out the anticipation that Chris must be feeling beneath him. 

"I hate you." The growl Chris rumbles into the pillow of his own arms holds no truth to it, nor does the way he reaches underneath himself with one hand to readjust his dick against the mattress, indicate that he is in any way not enjoying the tortuously slow way Darren touches him. 

Darren's grin is mile-wide when he sits back on his knees between Chris' bowed legs. "You do?" He runs the broad of both palms up the backs of those legs, starting from the delicate never-touched skin behind his knees, to the smooth upward slant of his thighs, and then teased the delicious bottom curve of his cheeks. "If you hate me, then I probably shouldn't be in your bed like this. And I definitely shouldn't tell you that this ass is the single most mouth-watering thing I have ever fucking seen, Chris." He presses his thumbs into the smooth flesh, watching the way it dimples and gives under his hands.

Chris snorts into the bed. "And people call you straight."

He swats a quick smack to one light-skinned cheek. "Stop, you."

Darren takes his time, he plays with and squeezes, pushing and pulling at Chris' ass until the skin is blushed pink. The mounds of flesh fit so perfectly into the palms of his hands, like he had been born to do exactly this. And maybe he was, because there was nothing in the world that he would rather be doing right at this moment than worshiping this man's body. His hands holding this sensitive part of Chris that only _he_ was allowed to see and touch, made him feel alive and powerful and male in a base and instinctual way that spoke to who Darren was and always had been. It wouldn't have mattered to him if Chris had been a man, a woman, or from Pluto. He loved this person, every inch of him, and he wanted to make him feel that.

His thumbs pull apart the cheeks and expose Chris' darker colored entrance to the cool air in the bedroom, making him flinch. He was even beautiful there, soft light brown hair that grew sparsely down the crack, framing a brownish pink, puckered hole that was clenching along with Chris' heartbeats. It looked so small and delicate like this, wrinkled and tiny, every kind of perfect. And _he_ got to go there, his _cock_ got to go there.He got to open Chris up and feel what Chris felt like on the _inside_ where no one else ever would. He was allowed to own and wreck Chris here. It made Darren shiver uncontrollably. He had to restrain himself from reaching down and taking his own throbbing erection into his hand and giving himself a few comforting, grounding strokes, just to distract himself from the overwhelming sight in front of him. 

The first kiss is a dry, chaste brush of his lips. Not that there is much chaste or innocence about burying your face into another person's ass, but still. Chris has built up a thin sheen, and he smells like sweat, soap and musk from his shower, as Darren parts his lips over the crinkle of skin and applies a wet suction that makes the younger man cry out and knot his fingers into the bedsheets. Darren doesn't just lick, he sucks. He pulls Chris' flesh taut with his thumbs, getting the best access to the sensitive bitter tasting skin beneath his lips. His tongue flattens against the spasming muscle, massaging it in circular motions that cause Chris to whimper and press himself backwards into Darren's face. The coarse scrape of his facial hair turning the tender skin of the ass Darren held down to the mattress, a raw red. He takes extra care to make Chris as loose and wet as he can with his mouth alone, ending up with spit running down his own chin, matting into his beard and soaking Chris’ crack all the way down to his balls hanging below. He presses soft lipped kisses to each one, he can’t not. He’s just so damn beautiful. 

It’s slow work, and Darren’s jaw begins to cramp up after only a few minutes of trying to loosen the tensed muscle flexing around his tongue. He lowers one hand to stroke at the flushed, sweaty, creased area beneath Chris’ balls, knowing how that specific touch makes Chris lose his mind. He isn’t disappointed, the body below him jerks backwards, knocking against his face with a hoarse _“Darren!”_

“Got you, Babe. I got you.” He pulls away to draw in a shuddering breath, sticking his thumb into his mouth and getting it as wet as he can. When he presses back in, Darren works his spit-covered thumb into Chris’ entrance alongside his tongue, pulling up and then tugging to the side, stretching the contracting muscles inside as his slithering pink tongue eases the sting.

Chris is huffing out harsh erratic breaths that stir the naturally dried hair that stuck out all around his face, his face scrunched up as he rocks himself back onto the single finger Darren had worked into his body. 

“Would you just get on with it?” Chris’ voice sounds wrecked, high and strained already as it reaches Darren’s ears and makes his toes curl against the heels of his feet and his dick throb relentlessly. 

“Yeah,” he croaks, and reaches for the bottle of lubricant on the side of the bed. He rubs a little onto the fingers of both of his hands. Chris always complained that Darren made sex even messier than it already had to be, smearing lube and sweat everywhere, but to him, that was part of the appeal. He used the palms of his hands to spread Chris’ cheeks apart as he eased both of his thumbs into the slightly gaping pink hole. He pulled them apart with short, shallow tugs, making Chris gasp and whimper, his long, lean back bowing up off the bed. Chris didn’t bottom very often, and Darren was pretty thick, if he did say so himself. It would still be uncomfortable at first, but he did what he could to make sure the rim and immediate first ring of muscle was as loose as possible. He dabbed extra lube directly onto the elastic skin, making it shiny and slick. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Those were _his_ fingers being swallowed up by Chris’ body, he felt hypnotized by the sight, wide eyed and transfixed.

His mouth began babbling without his brain’s express consent. “Fuck, Chris, you… _fuck_! Your ass… Oh my God.”

Chris grits his teeth and hisses, slamming his hips back against Darren’s hands. “Exactly, fuck my ass! Why are you just _sitting_ there?”

_Oh, right._ He was doing something here. He braces himself with one hand firmly planted on the bed beside Chris’ hip and goes to slide his fingers back between his messy, wet crack, but Chris jerks himself away.

“No, no I’m good. Just, come on.”

“But-” He begins, he’d barely prepped him at all.

Chris turns his head to stare back at him over his shoulder. His cheeks are red and his eyes blue-green and fever bright. “I told you I wanted to feel it, didn’t I?” The tip of his tongue flickers out to lick over his lips and Darren is just _gone_. 

He reaches for the condom box on the bed and hurriedly tries to roll one down onto himself. It’s easier said than done, after his cock was dripping precome all over himself for over an hour, he is swollen and slippery, but he does eventually manage to get the latex in place. 

Chris has already scooted up on the bed to lay with his knees tucked up under him and spread far apart. Kneeling there in the middle of the ocean of wrinkled bedding he looks like every wet dream that Darren had never been creative enough to think up. He crawls into place behind him and rubs his hands over Chris’ damp sides, over his ribs and down his hips. “You sure about this?”

The noise Chris is makes is pure exasperation. Darren can tell he is horny, and likely beyond ready to have something fill up the now aching place inside of him. “I am… No, actually, changed my mind. I have a nice rubber toy in my bathroom that could probably do a better jo- FUCK!”

Darren isn’t gentle with the first push. He thrusts and lodges the first couple of inches of his wide cock into Chris’ unbearably tight ass, knocking him forward and onto his face. 

“Uh, _yes_!” Chris keeps his face smashed down into the mattress as Darren works himself inside in a series of three firm thrusts of his hips. 

The heat and squeeze is incredible. Darren shuffles forward on his knees and drapes himself over Chris’ heaving back to grind as much of himself as possible into that moist, rippling, tightness. If there is one thing he knows about Chris like this, it’s that he doesn’t like to be treated gently or like he is breakable. When he wants to be fucked, he wants to be _fucked_. Darren lets the full weight of his own body fall down onto Chris, making him support them both where he rests on his elbows and knees. He turns his face and lets his cheek rest against the back of the other man’s neck, bringing both his arms around Chris’ straining body, hugging them together. Their skin is touching everywhere they possibly can, chest to back, groin pillowed to spread ass, legs aligned and pressed tight, Darren regulating his breathing to match Chris’ as they wait for both of their bodies to adjust to the give and take of one another.

It isn’t slow, and isn’t without it’s own share of discomfort at first, but the way that Chris groans and lets his head hang down between his bracing arms, tells Darren that it is exactly what his lover had wanted. He presses open mouthed kisses all over the back of his neck and shoulders as his hips hammer into the greedy clutch of Chris’ ass over and over until he starts having to bite down on the skin between his teeth with the effort of holding back.

Sweat burns when it drips down into Darren’s eyes, but he’s not about to unwind his arms from around Chris’ chest to wipe it away. “Are you… Shit. Please say you’re about there,” he wheezes, the air feeling too hot and too thin inside his lungs.

“Nuh.” Chris grunts with a shake of his head. “Need to, need the bed. Let me…” He reaches back with one hand, and grapples at Darren’s ass behind them. Keeping their bodies connected, Chris slowly lets his exhausted legs go slack, carefully lowering them both to the surface of the mattress. The friction of his heavy cock against the sheets and the changed angle must do the trick, because in an instant Chris is crying out and clenching so tightly around Darren’s dick inside him that it’s almost painful. 

“Oh shit, love, _please_.” He hears himself beg as his brain is hard-wired to his balls and the orgasm he feels speed towards him, barely able to snap his hips forward against Chris’ quivering ass.

He isn’t sure who comes first. Could have been him, could have been Chris, or he could have been abducted by aliens for fifteen years and then transported back into his body for all he knew. It felt that damn good. Darren lays panting against Chris’ back, cock softening where it lay nestled up against his swollen, puffed up rim, and the cooling come making an oozy mess of the both of them, where the condom had slipped when he had weakly pulled out. They were disgusting, fucked out, tired, and in his expert opinion, perfect. He nuzzles his face into the crook of Chris’ neck. “That do it?” He murmurs sleepily, kissing the sweet spot behind his ear.

“I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

Neither make much of a move to clean up, wiping themselves off with the top sheet and tossing the used condom onto the floor. Darren lays with one arm behind his head and the other looped around Chris’ shoulders as he uses the soft swell of Darren’s stomach as a living pillow halfway down the bed. Darren grins up at the ceiling as Chris, always cuddly and affectionate after sex, litters his abdomen with tiny kisses and bites, making up for the fact that his own back looked like it had been attacked by a particularly vicious mutant mosquito. He wouldn’t be going around shirtless any time soon, and Darren loves it.

“I want breakfast in the morning.” Chris punctuates his statement by tugging on his belly hair, and nosing around his navel drowsily.

“You got it.”

“Waffles.’

“Anything you want.” And he means that. _Absolutely anything._


	18. Hardly - Darren and Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always as much credit goes to [Lynne](http://klainecrisscolferwilsonlove.tumblr.com/) and [Zinnia](http://green-zinnia.tumblr.com/) as myself.

It takes about ten seconds of standing in front of the foreign appliance for Darren to realize that not only does he not have any idea how to operate it, but he also wouldn’t even know what ingredients to mix up anyway. Who actually _owns_ a waffle iron? _Seriously, Chris?_ He’s sure that it has been used once upon a snowball’s chance in Hell. 

But he tries to be a man of his word, for Chris, he is. He finds his shoes, wallet, and glasses in Chris’ room, and sneaks out of the house. It’s a ten minute drive to the nearest grocery store, and the time gives him a chance to think about what had happened in the two days since he’d returned home from the trip. He flashes back on the confrontation with his team and the fact that he had been told in no uncertain terms that he was the last person who should be making decisions about his own career. He should be angry, furious, slamming his fists into walls, but he wasn’t. Not anymore. As long as he had Chris, it was as if the rest of it was just… details. Inconsequential parts of the job that he would have to live with, just like the sticky caked on camera-ready makeup, tight clothes, and god-forsaken hair gel. He saw the Darren they presented to the world as as much of a character as any he’d ever played while reading from a script. No matter who he had to escort where, or how many smiles he directed in whatever direction he was pointed to, it wasn’t real. It never would be. The part of him that was real was the dent still pressed into a pillow, and the soft snoring of the man in a bed three miles away. 

He walked through the nearly deserted aisles of the grocery store. Guess not many people were out pursuing the frozen food section at a little before seven on a Saturday morning. He pushed the empty cart up and down the wide, brightly lit aisles throwing things in, mostly at random. Frozen waffles, fruit, cereal, a bottle of prosecco. 

He wondered briefly what would happen if he were photographed like this, with his sweatpants, borrowed t-shirt, and untrimmed beard, alone at a supermarket miles away from anywhere that he had any reason to be. Would anyone make the connection? Better question, why the fuck should anyone even care? He scratched his chin. Oh yeah, they’d definitely be cleaning him up before the benefit tomorrow night. Darren had always seen his lack of grooming during his free time as a passive aggressive form of rebellion against the perfect public persona he was made to sell to the masses. This was who he was, and it was just too damn bad that it wasn’t good enough for everyone. As long as he was good enough for the one person who really mattered, the rest of the world could go fuck themselves.

\----

Chris fights whatever the annoyance is that begins to tug him out of the blissful hold of sleep. Something keeps tickling and pressing at his shoulder blade, making him groan and his face twitch as he fights to drift back into unconsciousness.

“Wake.” 

_Tickle, press._

“Your.” 

_Tickle… and lips?_

“Lazy.” 

_Tickle, definitely a kiss._

“Ass.”

_Scratchy hair, damp lips._

“Up.” 

_Darren._

“No, I refuse.”

He grumbles down into his pillow, hiding the smile that instantly creeps onto his face at the knowledge of just who is smacking kisses onto his back. Chris feels tired in the loose comfortable way that follow an amazing, and for him rare, full night’s sleep. 

A slap against his bare, and undeniably sore, ass. “Well you have to. Because I did a breakfast thing.”

Chris shoves away the hand that was now groping him, and rolls over with a moan. The sunlight that poured in through his open curtains made his eyes water and blur. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sits up. _Ow._ He _had_ asked for this, but sitting up and putting all your weight on a recently fucked-out ass was never a pleasant experience. He shifts his body around on the bed. He’d certainly be feeling _that_ for a few days.

Darren sat on the edge of the bed smirking at him knowingly. Jerk. 

Chris’ lamp and clock have been taken off of his nightstand and placed on the floor, instead various plates, bowls, and two glasses cover every square inch of the small space. 

“Good barely-still morning.” 

“Huh?” Chris asks, still feeling sleep dazed. He reaches for one of the glasses that looks to contain orange juice, and takes a deep drink to wash the thickness out of his throat. He coughs slightly at the unexpected bubbles and burn. “Oh my God, warn somebody! Booze for breakfast?” 

Darren’s grin isn’t the least bit embarrassed as he picks up his own glass and a plate of toaster waffles and settles back against the headboard beside him. “Eggos, blackberries, and mimosas. I was trying to be classy here.” He pops a berry into his mouth and knocks his shoulder against Chris’. “I let you sleep for as long as I could, but I need to leave in a couple of hours and I wanted to make sure you got the breakfast I promised before I had to take off.”

Chris barely even remembered his drowsy, post-coital request to be fed and pampered the night before. The fact that Darren had taken him seriously and gotten up to do this, it made him swallow and clench his fingers into the sheet covering his naked body so that he didn’t reach out and tangle his fingers into Darren’s hair and kiss him stupid. He wants to tell him that he is amazing, and ridiculous, and makes Chris feel like everything else in the world becomes background noise when he smiles at him like that, but instead he only takes another sip of his drink and asks the time.

“Almost noon.”

Shit, he’d slept that long? Guess he got even more of a workout last night than he’d realized. Not that he is about to mention that. The last thing he needed was for Darren’s ego to inflate and suffocate them both. 

“So,” he asks casually, cutting a piece of his waffle with the side of his fork. He can do casual. “What is your plan after D.C. You’re scheduled to go back into the recording studio, right?”

Darren shrugs. “Yeah, I mean I guess that’s still going to happen. I’m sure they’ll find a way to pimp me out and make me pay for blowing everyone off like I have, but whatever. I’ll live.” He glances up at Chris with a clear question burning in his eyes. “When I get back Monday, should I go back to my place, or…?”

“What do you think?”

Darren grins and reaches over Chris to grab a slice of toast off the plate on his side of the bed. “I think it’s going to be a pretty awesome summer.”

Chris couldn’t agree with him more.

\----

He’s sitting outside that evening, with his laptop and the dog, answering emails when he gets the first text.

**Is Detroit known for being a LGBT hotspot?**

Chris blinks at the unexpected question. _What on earth was he talking about?_

**I… don’t know?**

He shakes his head and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He gets two lines written on an email to his editor about the book tour, when his phone chimes again.

**Well it should be. Their airport is the home of the magical rainbow tunnel of love.**

The laugh that erupts out of him is so loud and sudden that it startles Cooper awake at his feet. His fingers shake as he giggles over his phone’s screen.

**You would find that. Don’t get lost in the gay love tunnel and miss your flight, Darren.**

Chris should have seen the next message coming before it did, but he cracks up and his ears redden anyway.

**You know the only gay love tunnel I visit is in L.A.**

He snorts into his lemonade and has to wipe off the end of his nose.

\----

So begins the sexual innuendo text marathon of 2014. 

It starts out not-quite innocently enough, with Darren letting Chris know that he had finally landed in D.C. and was just going to head to his hotel and crash. His manager had been waiting for him at the airport, already in a foul mood that Darren had chosen to take the last available flight out of Los Angeles that didn’t have him land at Dulles until almost ten. What followed was a twenty minute car ride from Hell in which Darren was reminded of every “thoughtless” and “irresponsible” thing he’d ever done and exactly what was at stake when he decided to not play along with every aspect of the game. He also has to hear about how they’ll have to make sure he looks “stage ready” for the concert. Everyone was always hating on the beard, man. Darren was mentally and physically exhausted, and he’d only been around the guy for less than half an hour. He pulls out his phone to shoot Chris a quick message.

It begins again in the morning when Darren is having a meeting and a tour with the board of directors that are putting on the benefit. The theater is beautiful, and they’ve already raised more than the initial projected goal set for the victims of the disaster. He feels proud to be a part of it all. The chance to do things like this for causes that he hand-selected is one part of the job that he genuinely enjoys. He stands looking out over the empty theater from a balcony when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

He imagines the sputtering, smiling look on Chris’ face and snickers before shoving his phone back into his pants pocket and catching up to his manager.

He gets the next message when he is rehearsing with the full orchestra in preparation for the concert. He is performing an all new arrangement of his song and it sounds like so much more than a silly little tune written by some guy sitting in his bedroom so many years ago. It sounds like it means something now, or maybe he is only just grasping the full meaning of his own words. He tells Chris as much and then gets a reply a few minutes later.

The performance goes off without a hitch. He sings his song, joins a couple of friends for their numbers and the crowd eats it up. He feels lighter and relaxed even after the show as he meets people and poses for pictures at the after party. The night could have only been better if he’d had a certain blue-eyed someone by his side. 

The next morning when he wakes up, he is already running late, whoever invented different time zones was an asshole. His life sometimes seemed like nothing but the insides of hotel rooms and airports. Knowing that his flight home leaves in under an hour, Darren stops by the complimentary breakfast bar at his hotel while his manager checks them both out at the front desk. He grabs something to eat on the way, shaking his head and snickering at his own selection.

\----

Chris had to be up early to meet with his publicist and discuss the upcoming book launch, along with the numerous personal issues she’d press him for information about. Then he was due to have lunch with his assistant and map out his week. He was standing at the bathroom mirror getting himself presentable while idly scrolling through his twitter feed when he comes across Darren’s tweet from that morning. 

He clicks on the link and… _oh my god._ Chris feels the blush rise up in his face.

That was a promise Chris was more than capable of keeping.

He arrives home from his meetings feeling overwhelmed and dejected. The next months of his life were going to be a rollercoaster, constant ups and downs with barely a chance to catch his breath in-between. The book, the tour, appearances, and whatever in God’s name was going to happen with the show. With the movie getting ready to go into production, Chris wasn’t entirely sure what his participation was going to be in the final episodes, but it’s been such a huge part of his life for so long that he can’t help but feel a wave of sadness and nostalgia about it ending. Not only that, but the show is what brought him and Darren to one another in the first place. If for that reason alone, he would always be grateful. He lets himself inside, and is surprised to not be greeted by at least the dog, his relationship with Brian is still an apologetic work-in-progress. 

“Hello?” He calls out and then stills when he walks in to find Darren asleep on the couch with Cooper snuggled up next to him. Darren’s mouth is open, breathing deeply with one arm slung over his head, palm turned up like his fingers are waiting for someone’s to twine in-between them. His face had been trimmed down to a more controllable scruff across his chin and those long black eyelashes that Chris was secretly envious of, brushed the tops of his cheeks. He was the most unconventional Sleeping Beauty imaginable, but Chris bent over and pressed his smiling lips to Darren’s open mouth, licking inside and tasting the sweetness from whatever Darren had been drinking. He flicks his tongue over Darren’s, sucking on his upper lip until those long black lashes fluttered open over surprised hazel gold eyes. “Breaking and entering again?”

Darren sat up and smiled sleepily, not fully awake from his nap. “It’s only entering when you have a key.”

Chris opens his mouth to reply but cuts off with a squeak and strong hands grab him by the waist and pull him down onto the couch. Darren rolls on top of him and begins to dig his fingers into the sensitive spot below Chris’ ribs.

“Oh no no no!” He begs, already knowing that Darren wasn’t going to listen. He could play dirty, too. Chris yanks up Darren’s t-shirt and begins tickling the exposed strip of tan skin along the line of his waist. Darren growls and tries to pin Chris’ arms, the struggle knocking the both of them off the narrow sofa and onto the floor. Chris lands on top and grins down with a triumphant smirk, when Darren huffs in annoyance. He holds Darren’s wrists down next to them while the smaller man struggles playfully beneath him. 

“There are easier ways of getting me flat on my back, you know.” Darren pretends to try to break free of Chris’ grip, even as one of his legs wraps around Chris’ calves. 

“Possibly, but this is more fun.” He leans down and kisses him to welcome his man home.


	19. Changed  - Darren and Chris

It’s a struggle to find balance between the passions that drive him, between his work and the man with the aquamarine eyes, but Darren tries to find his footing. He’s spent the past few days splitting his time between a recording studio that he’s rented space in, and hanging out at Chris’ house and being a complete bum. The music seems to be pouring out of him in a steady stream, his muse returned and wide awake after having been asleep for so long. Songs of realization and hope and yearning. His melodies were uplifting and bright, an ode to things that were long-wanted and precious. Darren can’t remember ever feeling so inspired, even so, he feels too restless to stay in the studio for more than a few hours at a time.

He’ll be holding his guitar or seated behind the piano and a blind claustrophobia will set in, not for space or air, but for smiles and touch. Darren finds himself bowing out and making his excuses after only half a day’s worth of work. He rushes to his car and pulls out of the lot, humming along under his breath to the oldies station he’d left the radio on earlier in the morning. He couldn’t hear a single song without relating the lyrics back to himself and Chris. It’s cliche and pathetic, but it makes him grin at himself in the rearview mirror. He’s in love, he’s allowed to be a bit more of a cheesy idiot than usual.

He stops off at a deli that he knows that Chris likes and orders more than enough takeout for three. 

There were points in their not too-distant past, when things were murkier and more strained between them, in their endless phases of self-denial and refusals, when Darren had been guilty of being a jealous dick. Chris knew that and had played into it. He wasn’t proud of it, not at all, but it was what it was. They had both always known what they had wanted, but had not been able to see how it could ever be theirs. People had been used, games had been played, in the pursuits of self-serving jealousy and getting a rise out of one another. Innocent by-standers moved around like pawns in the burning game of chess they played with one another. Darren could be jealous, sulky, and impulsive and Chris could be calculating, petty, and proud. They loved each other for and despite those things, even if they weren’t some of their better qualities. 

But they had learned, they’d grown, and now they were stronger together for it all. It makes all the difference.

He isn’t surprised to see the extra car sitting in Chris’ driveway when he pulls up to the house. Darren lets himself in without hesitation. He drops his keys onto the coffee table with a clang and walks around the corner to find Chris and his assistant sitting at the table in the kitchen. A laptop, a tablet, phones, papers, pens, highlighters, and empty mugs cover nearly every inch of the tabletop, showing only small glimpses of the dark colored wood underneath. He had clearly walked in on a full scale battle plan session. He’ll have to be watchful for friendly fire. “Making plans to invade a small European nation?” 

Chris looks up and his eyes brighten as he sees Darren walk in, it makes Darren’s heart and feet stumble over themselves to see. Would he always react like this knowing that he was the reason that Chris was this happy? He hoped so. He could handle looking like a clumsy chump if it meant seeing this smile every day. 

“Close. Travel plans for the book tour. Finding the least horrific hotels I can. Aren’t you supposed to be in the studio?”

“Even a working man’s gotta eat.” He drops the heavy bag of food into the middle of the chaotic sea of documents and notes, rounding the corner of the table to squeeze Chris’ shoulder briefly, before holding his hand out to Chris’ assistant sitting across from him. “Hey, man.”

The smiles and small talk are easy and casual. Clearly he’s not surprised to see Darren there. Chris is telling people, telling his friends. The fact that he can be a fixture in Chris’ life instead of a ghost, is heady and makes Darren’s throat feel thick.

He clears his throat and leans his hip against the side of the table. “There is a ruben, a turkey, a ham and swiss, and two salads. Pick whatever you want. I’ll eat anything. Oh, yeah.” Remembering, he reaches into the bag and grabs out the small container of tuna salad he’d asked for, and starts making mewing noises as he walks out of the room to look for Brian. 

Chris stands up and hurries after him. “Darren, no. What are you trying to feed him?”

He quickly realizes that Chris following him into the living room was a pretense when he is shoved down the hallway, through the laundry room door, and his back slams into the wall with a sudden exhale of breath. Chris takes the small plastic container from his hand and places it on the dryer, pulls both of Darren’s arms behind his head to loop around his own neck, and tilts his head towards Darren’s. 

“That was very mature and decent of you back there.” He comments with a backwards glance over his shoulder.

“Mature and decent are two of my many secret middle names, Colfer.”

“Yeah, _sure_ they are.” Chris rubs the bridge of his nose along his, teasing both of their lips by moving in until they are less than a breath apart before sweetly kissing the very corner of Darren’s slightly open, heavily-breathing mouth.

Yes, Darren’s reactions to other men in Chris’ life have changed. He definitely isn’t the guy he was four years ago when they’d met, he isn’t even the same person he was this time a year ago when everything had been so up in the air and unsure between them. But he’s changed, and he knows that Chris realizes that. His fingers trail down into the back collar of Chris’ shirt and play with the tag.

“Anyone who makes your life easier is pretty okay in my book.” 

The small space they stand in, pressed against each other, may smell like fabric softener and vaguely like tuna fish salad, but all Darren can focus on is the feeling of the insistent mouth suddenly clamped down upon his.

\----

“You are a sick and twisted little man, you know that?” 

Chris’ head snaps up from where he’d been thoroughly engrossed in his Twitter feed. Darren is sprawled out on his stomach on Chris’ bedroom floor with an advance copy of Chris’ book. He lays with his chest propped up on a pillow from the bed and his feet kicked up behind him, toes flexing and curling as he reads. Is it possible for someone’s toes to be attractive? Long and strong-looking with the lightest smattering of dark hair across the lower knuckle. He liked Darren’s toes. He liked most parts of him, though. He didn’t think that meant he had some weird foot fetish. At least he hoped not. Maybe the sick and twisted thing wasn’t that far off?

He smirks. “Who are _you_ calling little?” 

Darren turns the book over face down to save his place. He is around four chapters in. He’d been reading for the last hour as they spent a quiet afternoon together, after Chris’ assistant had headed home for the day. They had still managed to get a lot done, even after Darren had shown up with lunch. The plans for his book tour next month are in place and he had chosen where he’d be staying in each city during the whirlwind signing trip. He had a thing about choosing the places he’d be staying himself. The insistence stemmed back to some truly horrifying cheap motels he’d stayed in on family vacations when he was a kid. He needed this much personal control when he travelled. 

He was lucky in the fact that he had assembled a team of not employees, but friends, surrounding himself that he trusted and who could accept his quirks and need for space and privacy without question. He couldn’t imagine being in Darren’s shoes, having to struggle and negotiate with those people who were supposed to be there to make your chaotic professional life work more efficiently. The idea alone is enough to make Chris feel a shudder rattle up his spine.

“You have essentially bastardized every classic fairytale imaginable here. And while brilliantly done, these poor kids reading this are going to need therapy.”

Chris laughs softly at the comment. “I hope you know that I take that as a compliment.”

“As you should.” Darren goes back to reading silently for a few pages, before speaking up again. “I want my copy autographed by the way.”

“Why? Planning to sell it on ebay?” He slides off the bed and onto the floor to sit cross-legged beside where Darren was laying. 

“Hmm, guess that depends on how desperate I get for cash.”

“And what if I just draw a dick inside the front cover instead?”

“Please do. That will go for big money.” The silly grin that Darren flashes him causes Chris to snicker loudly and fall onto Darren’s back. He wriggles around until he is comfortably pillowed by the warm body underneath him, with his legs off to the side and his upper body laid out along Darren’s back, his chin propped up into a nest of sandalwood shampoo-smelling curls. 

He reads his own words comfortably over the top of Darren’s head until his entire body jostles with Darren who begins to laugh. He can hear and feel the deep voice rumble up from within Darren’s chest as he speaks.

“I know exactly who that is.” He taps a passage on the page with his index finger, where a certain character quips off a line that had, in fact, been inspired by a real life person that they both knew well. 

“Yeah well, she is a bit obvious,” he concedes, with a shrug that Darren can’t see from below him.

“You’re brilliant.” When Darren says it, there is no trace of flattery or ego-stroking. He states it at matter of fact and plainly as if he were saying that today is Wednesday. A subtle smile curls at the corner of Chris’ lips as he lays his cheek down on the crown of Darren’s head and lets him go back to his reading.

“Why aren’t I in here?” 

Chris is taken aback by the sudden question. It was no secret now that Darren had inspired a very central character in the series. At the time, he had thought he was a genius at how sneaky and subtle he had been by dropping hints and clues as to who had inspired the cursed but brave, loyal dark haired prince of his epic tale. But looking back he has been about as obvious as the look he got in his face whenever the flesh and blood man was standing in front of him. 

_You’re in every line, stupid. You are in everything I do._

It was true. It was virtually impossible for Chris to imagine even a fictional world without Darren in it in a central way, a fact he’d see, were he to keep reading.

Chris wound a hand into those soft black curls, and pulled hard, forcing Darren’s head back and to the side so that Chris could see the laughter dancing in his gorgeous eyes. “Because you’re the hero of _my_ story, and that’s not something that can be bought for $16.99 at Barnes and Noble.” 

Darren cranes his neck up as far as he can and manages to press an off center kiss to the bottom of Chris’ chin. “Nice save.”


	20. Promises - Chris and Darren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was another work-intensive chapter. Thank you to Heukii for the lovely header, Zinnia, Lynne, AND Lynne's son Jack for the beta advice.

Today was going to be a fun day, he could feel it in his bones as soon as he woke up. He was going to have lunch with some friends before heading over to the book signing later that afternoon. She was a powerful and inspirational woman, so if there were some nervous giddy butterflies fluttering inside his stomach, don’t judge him. 

The only downfall would be that with the way their days were playing out, he wouldn’t get a chance to see Darren that day. Unless that is, he _made_ it happen. He loaded the dog up into the backseat of his car and made the half hour drive through morning traffic. It was probably not a good thing that the idea of going even one day without seeing one another was an unacceptable thought, especially considering the fact that in just over a month he’d have a film to shoot on a different continent. The level of physical and emotional intimacy they had been stewing in for the past month, had left him addicted and needful of Darren’s presence in a way that he wasn't completely comfortable with, but not blind enough to deny. Wouldn’t it probably be easier to wean themselves off of one another slowly, before they were just suddenly apart? _Yeah, right._ There wasn’t anything he could do about that, and the time would come regardless, but Darren was in Los Angeles now and so was he. Carpe diem, and all that jazz. He would seize whatever happiness they were granted and hold onto it with both hands.

He clipped Cooper’s leash once they pulled up outside the home so that the dog didn’t take off across the gravel drive. He let himself in for the first time using his new key. It was getting easier all the time to do these things without second guessing himself. Darren wasn’t exactly an early riser when he didn’t have a call time or drive to the airport in front of him, and ringing the bell would have only gotten an annoyed glare. He left Cooper to sniff around the front part of the house and wandered back to the bedroom. Darren was asleep on his back with one arm curled above his head and a hairy, muscular leg sticking out of the sheets. He'd told Chris once that this was the optimal way to regulate one's body temperature when sleeping, Chris told him that he just liked to hear himself talk and threw a piece of popcorn at this head. In all honesty, he figured both were possibly true. 

He toes his worn converse off beside the bed, and crawls over Darren's prone body on the mattress, hovering above him on all fours.

"Good morning, sunshine."

Nothing.

"Darren."

Not even a twitch.

_Fine, asshole._

"Oh my _god_ , Darren, there's a mouse! A really huge capitalist mouse, and it's out to take over the civilized world!"

Darren bolts up in bed with a hoarse shout, nearly bashing their heads together. Chris sits back with a smirk, barely just in time, narrowly missing their colliding skulls.

Darren flops back onto the bed with an _“oof”_ his eyes squinted closed against the bright morning sunlight. He grumbles under his breath even as his hands grab for Chris’ arms. “Hate you so much sometimes.” Darren tugs Chris downward on top of him. He goes willingly, allowing Darren to pull him so that he lays with his head tucked securely under Darren’s chin, his forehead turned up and nestled into the scrape of his beard. 

“Just wanted to make sure that you were ready for your day.” He allows himself the moment, resting with their chests pressed together and heartbeats settling into a non-matched but complementary rhythm. That is how it was with them, always different in every conceivable way, but suited to each other in ways that no one else had ever even come close. Darren’s steady heartbeats filling in the silences between his own, making sure that there was always warmth and life pulsing through every moment without a pause in between. Maybe he couldn’t have this all the time, but Chris would soak up every moment that he could and use it to steady him during the silent periods, where he was forced to go without.

They talk of the day laid out ahead of them, about Chris’ excitement over the book signing, Darren pouting that he doesn’t get to go. About Darren’s parents driving in for the day, and the pre-arranged photo op that had been set up for that afternoon. Chris can hear the strain in his voice when he talks about it, he can feel the tension in the muscles of Darren’s chest under his cheek. The game wears on him in a way that Chris will never fully be able to appreciate, but he likes to think that were their roles reversed, Darren would be as quick to take his own hand and press a kiss of quiet understanding against the end of his fingers.

They let a half an hour’s worth of minutes drift by as the shadows on the light-colored bedroom wall shorten with the rising sun. Chris laughingly tells him that the dog may be destroying the inside of his house, which is what finally drags Darren from the bed. He stands in the bathroom brushing his teeth with the door open, Chris sitting, hugging his knees on the bed.

“I can’t believe that you’re going to that book signing without me.” 

_This again? The big baby._

“If you’re really good, I might let you touch my book.” He jokes with a coy smile at Darren’s reflection in the mirror.

The man can smirk around a toothbrush in his mouth. Un-freaking-believable. He looks attractive while spitting toothpaste into a sink. How is that even fair? Chris would look like a rabid animal if someone ever saw him do it. Not that they ever would. 

“You suck. You know that, right?” Darren cocks his hip against the doorframe, arms crossed over his bare chest with his bottom lip poked out, looking pitiful. 

_Okay Mr ‘I’ve performed for the President multiple times.’ But my God, you’re adorable._

“Maybe, if you’re very good, and bring me something, I will.”

Chris waits, sometimes witnessing Darren’s facial expressions was like watching a live-action cartoon. He can practically _see_ the oversized light bulb go on over his head when he catches up to what Chris had just said. 

“Oh?” His grin devious, and makes Chris shake his head. It’s almost too easy.

He climbs off the bed and pulls Darren from the room. “Let’s see how much collateral damage Cooper’s caused.”

Chris is on the phone with his assistant, they make their final plans for where they’ll meet some mutual friends at a restaurant in downtown Hollywood in an hour. He watches Darren playing with the puppy out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t bat an eyelash at the fact that there was now dog hair on his chic suede arm chair that probably cost more than some of Chris’ early monthly income statements. Cooper follows happily behind him to Darren’s refrigerator, where he inhales about half a package of sandwich meat from the man’s fingers. Chris can’t help but be reminded of his slip last weekend when he’d referred to the fact that Cooper was adopted by a _we_ instead of a single _he_. He seemed to be having trouble even thinking of himself as a single entity instead of a part of something bigger, something _more_ lately. As scary as the fact was, he had no desire to ever be _less_ again. 

He accepted Darren’s minty toothpaste-flavored kiss goodbye at the door, shoving him away when secondary ones were pressed to his ticklish nose and cheeks. “I’ve gotta go, you dummy.”

“Fine, fine. Just so you know, I plan to be _very_ good today. Best behavior. A total boy scout.” He works his mouth against the tendon in the side of Chris’ neck in a way that is sinfully appealing and on any other day would be reason enough to make Chris stay right where he is.

Chris snorts into his shoulder. He shakes Darren from where he had been holding onto his narrow hips. “I bet you do. I keep my promises. Just remember that I expect a souvenir, and you had better make it good. Say hi to your mom and dad for me.’

Darren groans loudly. “ _Please_ don’t mention my parents when I am thinking illicit thoughts about your mouth, Colfer! Have a little respect.” He shoves Chris out the door with a smile and a silly little wave.

He doesn’t make it three miles down the road before his phone vibrates in the front pocket of his jeans. He glances in his rear and side view mirrors to check for police cruisers, and pulls the phone out to check the message.

He shoves his phone back into his pocket and rolls his eyes at the dog in the backseat. “ _Your_ friend is impossible, boy.” 

He has to hurry to get home to drop Cooper off and make it to lunch on time, so he initially ignores it when his phone alerts him to a new Twitter notification.

\----

Sometimes his life was fucking surreal. When you’re a kid and think about what you want to do with your life once you’re all grown up, he’s pretty sure no one ever pictured _this_. Being followed around a theme park with your friend and your parents trying to act as though you aren’t posing for a pair of professional photographers, nonchalant and carefully casual. It’s something Darren will never quite get used to. He knows why people think it’s necessary. He has an image to project and protect, and this is part of it. Everything is about keeping up appearances.

He’d called his mom and dad and invited them to come down and spend that afternoon at Disneyland with him, once he’d been informed of the plan for the casual “date.” It wasn’t something he would normally do, but he felt like he needed the support right now. It was hard not to feel resentment and bitterness about the situation when everything between him and Chris had been so intense. If he could choose, this would be over, but at least by having his parents there he was able to at least _look_ like he was enjoying himself. He hoped he looked like he was, at least. If not, there are people who would be pissed.

She had been his friend for years, and he can’t say that there weren’t times in the distant past that one or the other of them had entertained the idea of being more. When the need had arisen for someone to step in and help him to present himself in a certain light, she’d been a natural choice. But the charade had grown tired, and though it was a mutually beneficial arrangement, it wore on them both. Their friendship had suffered for it, and Darren finds himself wishing for her sake, as much as his own, that it didn’t have to continue. She understood, as much as anyone could understand something that often felt like insanity, and he was grateful to her for that. He always would be. But their lives, both personally and professionally, were headed in such different directions, and neither of them were sure how much longer that the current stalemate could hold. Her heart and future was in New York, and his was standing in line at a West Hollywood book store. It was a bridge he would have to cross when he came to it.

“You look good.” She commented with a small smile as they trailed behind his parents, dodging a pair of kids barreling past them down one of the narrower sidewalks in front of souvenir shops and food stands.

“I’ve been good.” And he has, he feels better about himself and who he is right now, than he has for longer than he can remember. Hiding makes him feel like less of a failure at life, when the reason to hide is something worth protecting. “So, you’re moving?” He’d heard various rumors and snippets from different friends, but she was yet to say anything to him directly. It was a sad side effect of their strained friendship that they didn't talk as openly as they used to.

She shrugs and loops her arm through his. “I haven’t really decided yet. Maybe. There’s a lot to think about.”

They walk past a couple no older than they are with a small child holding on to her parents’ hands. “If you want to, you should. You deserve to be happy, too.”

She glances up at him and bites down on her bottom lip. “And you’d be cool with that? I mean, that’d be okay?”

He looks back at the young couple with the cute, blonde toddler practically pulling them along in the general direction of the castle. They weren’t kids anymore, and it was time to start thinking about their lives beyond whatever phase they were in right now. If she had met someone that she wanted to be with, Darren wanted that for her. He wanted it almost as much as he wanted it for himself. “I’d make sure it was okay.”

It wasn’t necessary to see all the sights. They chose a few and confirmed them with the photographers, rode a few rides and found a balcony from which to watch one of the parades go by. He was surprised to find that he honestly was enjoying himself. Even more so when he received an excited text from Chris that contains a lot of exclamation points. His friend catches him looking at his phone and grinning like an idiot, rolls her eyes at him, and goes back to watching the characters and performers dancing down Main Street. Despite the distance between them, he can still read her expression clearly. _You are hopeless, my young friend._

Yeah, he kind of is.

He pulls out his cell phone and risks invoking the wrath of the Disney gods to take a quick photo as they wait to step in through the entrance to the Indiana Jones ride. He can’t help but be reminded of another trip to the park, two boys, less than a week after a first kiss, who were unspokenly more than friends in their newly bought Mickey Mouse baseball caps and dark sunglasses, and sweaty palms. 

He is standing with his mom, taking a breather while his Dad looks at animation prints in a shop. When Darren had reminded him that he has a birthday coming up… in eight months, his Dad had playfully shoved him away and told him to go buy his mother an ice cream cone. He was so thankful that his parents had made the trip to come with him today. He’s had so much happiness in his life, and it feels good to have them around him, and know they can see the change in him. They’ve worried about him, and he knows it. 

“Of course we came. I got an excuse to get your father out of his office and away from the golf course, and I had an excuse to see my baby. It’s been a good day. Eat your ice cream, Pogi. It’s melting on your shirt.”

“Crap!” He leans his head down and licks a few drops of melted vanilla off his striped cotton t-shirt.

His mom laughs and hands him a napkin from the small stack she had stashed in her purse. “Though since we are here…” She trails off, and Darren doesn’t quite trust the suspicious gleam in her dark eyes. “Will we be staying at your house tonight, or should we find a hotel?”

His forehead crinkles in confusion. “Why wouldn’t you stay with me?” 

She throws the remainder of her uneaten ice cream cone into a nearby trash can and starts cleaning her hands, her voice carefully neutral. “I’ve just heard that you haven’t been spending many nights at home lately.”

“And where would _you_ hear that?”

Her smile is way too much like his own when she grins up at him from beneath her wide-brimmed hat. “I have my sources.”

“I’m going to kill Chuck.” _The big mouthed bastard._

His mother wraps her arm around his waist and pats the side of his face like she had done ever since he was small, he loved the way she always smelled like lavender. “Your brother is happy that you are happy, Pogito. That is all any of us have ever wanted for you. Whatever you need to do be happy, you do.”

He had already told his parents that he was going to offer to let Chris stay in the apartment in London if he chose to, while he filmed his movie. Chris hadn’t committed himself one way or another, but Darren still hoped that he would. And maybe if he could get away for a few days… “About the apartment in Bayswater-”

She waved off his words with her hand. “It’s yours for as long as you need it. Yours or Christopher’s.”

His throat felt tight at hearing his mother say the name so easily. It sounded so natural, like something that should always have been. His voice is laced with heavy emotions when he lays his head against the top of her straw hat and closes his eyes. “Thank you, Mama.”

She pulls away and looks up at her youngest son with nothing but joy in her eyes. “You love him. You want to know how I know that? Because you were a spoiled child, but when you _love_ something you put it first before yourself, and you do that for him. So, you two take care of each other now, it’s very simple.” She takes his arm and pulls him after her to go catch up with his dad before her husband decides to spend their entire retirement fund on framed limited-edition prints of Goofy.

They decide to stay for another hour, leaving in time for him to take his parents out to a nice dinner where his mother scolds him for his clothes. He turns before he exits the park and takes one last picture on his phone, sending it off with a simple “Thinking of you.”


	21. Someday - Darren and Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys would not _believe_ the controversy during the beta process over Darren firing one off into his tighty whities...

He vows to play the dutiful son for as long as his parents are awake once they arrive at his home from dinner. It’s not his fault that his face is easier to read than a stop sign. After an hour of sitting around the living room with coffee and small talk, Darren surreptitiously (he thought) glancing at his phone every few minutes, his dad laughs in that loud, full-bodied way that Darren remembers from his childhood. 

“Just go, son. Your mind is clearly on another planet right now. We don’t need entertaining.”

He blinks and sits up straighter from where he had been slumped over on the couch. “What? No! You guys drove all the way down here. I’m not just going to-”

“We’ll probably be heading to bed soon anyway.” His mother cuts in with a pat to his shoulder. At a little after eight? Were his parents actually getting _old_?

He hesitates, and as badly as he wants to get over to Chris’ house and show him his amazing gift, and _receive_ one of his own, it just didn’t feel right to leave. “Are you sure?” His face was the textbook definition of conflicted, twin desires warring in his eyes between wanting to stay and spend time with his parents and wanting to see the look on Chris’ face. Hell, wanting to see Chris’ face in general, but this was nothing new. He pretty much always wanted to be looking at the other man, no matter what the circumstances.

“Go and see him. You will see us in the morning, sweetheart.” His mother went so far as to grab Darren’s arm, as if she would be physically strong enough to pull him up off the of couch. “And let him know that I expect him to be here for breakfast, too. Neither of you cook at home, don't think I didn’t notice. There are cobwebs on your stove, Pogi.”

“There are not,” he tells her defensively, already standing up and snatching his keys up off the coffee table where he’d dropped them earlier. He smacks obnoxiously loud kisses to his mom’s cheek and the top of his father’s bald head. “I shouldn’t be gone too long. I love you, guys.” He may be a grown man of twenty seven, and this might be his house, but it still felt like the right thing to say. And Darren has become a big believer in going with what feels right, especially here lately. Grabbing up the brightly colored bag that he’d set down on the table beside the front door, Darren rushes out to his car, off into the night.

The door swings shut behind him before he can see the twin disbelieving smiles on his parents’ faces. Nor is he there to bear witness to the twenty dollar wager as to whether or not their youngest son would make it home that night at all.

\----

 

Chris isn’t sure why he didn’t believe that Darren would actually come over to make good on their earlier deal, but he was still caught unaware when he heard his name called from downstairs. He had been laying in bed steadily making his way through his heavily backlogged DVR with Brian and Cooper both claiming their respective spots on either side of him. Their truce was a shaky one, but the cat had seemed to finally come to accept the presence of the new addition to the family. As long as at least once a day, Chris picked him up and insisted that he would always love him just a little bit more. No one ever said that pet-parenting was without its little white lies and manipulations. 

“Chris? Chris! If you’re in bed before my parents then we need to have a talk, man!” Darren walks in through the open bedroom door with a smirk and a bright yellow plastic bag emblazoned with mouse ears. Guess that answered that.

“Hey,” Chris pulled his long legs in so that Darren could sit down on the foot of his bed without disturbing either of the animals who weren’t inclined to move for the extra human who had so rudely shown up to intrude on family night. “I thought you’d be with your mom and dad. How was it?” He knew that Darren had not been looking forward to having to go out and perform for the cameras again. In just that one month’s time, he had grown so accustomed to being able to be himself and the reality of having to put up with the charade again had frustrated and upset him more than he had let on. But Chris knew. He was determined not to say anything that might make the situation worse, but he couldn’t deny his curiosity at how the afternoon had gone. Darren didn’t look upset right then, but it was always possible that he was hiding behind his smile. 

Darren scooped a disgruntled looking Brain up and laid back sideways across the end of Chris’ bed, settling the cat to lay on his stomach. “It was surprisingly okay. The vultures got their shots, they should stop circling for a while. My parents seemed to have fun. We talked about London, about the apartment.” 

Darren’s eyes slid away from Brian, who was becoming a lifelong friend, simply by scratching the base of his tail in _just that way_ , to study Chris’ face. He knew that Darren wanted some kind of answer or confirmation about what his plans were regarding his trip back overseas in a month, but it wasn’t that easy. Chris wouldn’t be there alone, and he wasn’t sure how much about their relationship he could explain to all of the parties involved The people closest to him knew, knew enough, but he wasn’t someone who had ever been comfortable opening himself up to gossip and scrutiny like that. The uncertainty fell across his eyes like a shadow. 

Darren read enough in his face to know that he wasn’t going to be getting an answer tonight. If there was disappointment in those gentle dark eyes, he swallowed it down and didn’t let Chris see. “And my mom is bugging the crap out of me about seeing you again. So breakfast attendance is now mandatory. Just a warning, my brother has a big fucking mouth, and I’m pretty sure she knows everything, so expect to be grilled within an inch of your life.“

Chris fell over on his side and groaned at the prospect, making Darren burst out laughing at his anguish. He loved that laugh, it was the sound he pulled up in his mind when he wanted the roar of the rest of the world to go away. Other people could keep their ocean waves or tranquil forest streams, Chris would take Darren’s unrestrained warm laughter to be the sound he used to center himself.

Darren rolls across the bed and kisses his arm through his t-shirt. “Tell me about the signing. Was she awesome? Were you able to make words?”

Chris snorts into his comforter and then uncurls himself to be able to tell Darren about his own eventful afternoon. He pulls out his phone and shows him a few pictures that he and his friend had taken at the bookstore, Darren shaking his head and sending one of Chris to himself. “That color looks amazing on you.” Despite everything, how was it that something as simple as that made him want to hide his face in the pillow and blush?

Once they had finished recounting the way that Chris had embarrassed himself by butchering the carefully planned-out greeting he had mentally composed before the autograph signing, Chris let his eyes fall on the yellow plastic bag sitting on the floor beside his bed. “I’m guessing that’s…?”

When he hears Chris trail off, Darren lifts his head and takes notice of where Chris’ eyes are focused. He was staring at the bag he had brought with him. His grin is excited and mile-wide. “Oh, you ready for your present?”

Darren has exactly two modus operandi when it comes to gifts. Either they were undeniably amazing, perfect, and thoughtful, or they were flat out horrible. There was absolutely no middle ground. He had once given Chris a gift certificate for having his car detailed. _Really, Darren? Really?_ Then again the gift certificate was tucked inside a first edition, signed copy of Philosopher's Stone that Chris has kept on his desk ever since the day he’d gotten it. Even through times when the thought of speaking to Darren was less than appealing than a root canal, that book had kept a place of significance. Just like the man who’d given it to him did.

So Chris couldn't deny that there was more than a hint of curiosity at what might be inside that bright yellow bag. Whatever is inside is roughly shoebox sized and shaped. He doubted that even Darren, with his cartoon character watches and Lion King toilet seat cover, would actually go so far as to buy shoes at a Disneyland souvenir shop, so the observation is essentially useless. Sadly, Chris still lacks the super abilities needed for x-ray vision, so there’s no way of finding out without indulging Darren just a little.

“Okay, let’s see it. And if, only _if_ , it passes my high standards will I think about giving you yours. So you can wipe that dopey, puppy grin off your face.” 

Darren rolls his eyes and climbs off the edge of the bed. “You’re a cynic, Colfer. This is going to be awesome and you’ll love it. Let me set them up. No peeking!” 

Set them up? Chris wasn’t sure how he liked the sound of that. Darren walked over to his dresser and pulled a medium sized brown box out of the bag. He shoved it in front of his body before Chris has a chance to get a good look. “Didn’t I say no peeking? Turn around.” 

He huffs and turns to sit on the bed facing the opposite wall with a huff. “This is stupid.” 

“You’re stupid!”

They have such intellectual conversations.

Chris can hear plastic wrap and shuffling from behind his back as he sits and fidgets, fighting the urge to sneak a covert look over his shoulder. Yes, it’s silly, but Darren has always brought out the kid in him and he is perfectly fine with that. Together they can be as juvenile and immature as they like without any fear of judgement. It was one of the many things that had endeared Darren to him in the first place when they’d met. The shuffling goes on, he can hear Darren laughing under his breath. “Should I be afraid of what you’re doing over there?”

“Patience, it’s a virtue.”

“ _Darren._ ” Yes, he’s aware that he just whined. But in his defense, it was taking the man forever.

“Okay, come on.” Warm hands slide around his face and cover his eyes. It isn’t easy climbing backwards off the bed, and he nearly trips over the edge of his blanket, but Darren’s arms fall from his eyes to steady him before he falls and busts his ass. He lets Darren keep his eyes covered and steer him to stand in front of his dresser. “Check this out.”

Lined up in neat rows across the top of his dresser, a small army of mouse-eared characters from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. They were ridiculous, ugly, and kind of perfect. Chris could already see the figurines displayed on a shelf in his office, out of reach of the dog, of course, sitting there and distracting him from his work when he’d look over at them and see a reminder of nothing but _Darren_. 

“I saw these guys and knew you had to have them. Pretty cool, right?” He could hear the proud smile in Darren's voice as he held on to Chris by his hips from behind. 

“You are twenty-seven going on six.” 

A strong arm slides around Chris’ waist and he feels a warm breath against his ear. “Don’t even try it. You love them.” When he feels Darren’s lips, curved into a soft smile brush the shell of his ear, he hears the _“and me”_ implied and knows they’re both true.

Darren’s own “gift” is forgotten about for the time being when they get lost in finding a new home for Chris’ mice. That leads to an epic action figure battle in which somehow Arnold Toht swipes a light saber and proceeds to mow down every opponent in the office, complete with Darren’s voice overs and sound effects. Chris records the epic battle on his phone, and they watch it back while lying in bed with the laptop supported on Darren’s knees. Brian is in Chris’ lap, Chris’ arm is around Darren’s back, and that head of soft black hair tucked into the concave bend of his neck. Watching their little action adventure movie turns into a long stream of “Have you seen this?” and “I love this one” that goes on for over an hour. The next thing Chris realizes, he is glancing at his clock and sees that it is seventeen minutes after midnight. Darren has gone heavy and quiet against him. 

“Hey.” He takes the laptop from Darren’s legs and stretches to put it down on the floor next to the bed. Darren snuffles his face into Chris’ shoulder and turns so that he is laying on his side on the mattress. His face has gone soft and his long eyelashes blink open fewer and fewer times until they stop fluttering open at all. He slips his arm from underneath Darren’s body and crawls down the bed. Reaching out and unbuttoning the five button fly of Darren’s jeans, he eases them down Darren’s legs and off his feet, leaving him dressed in a white, blue, and yellow striped t-shirt and a plain pair of white boxer briefs. Chris trails his hand up the hairy length of one of his calves and chuckles under his breath when Darren’s legs curl up and he curls himself into a balled up position that he knows he tends to sleep in when he’s in bed alone. Darren is like a reptile when he sleeps, he moves to absorb whatever body heat is available even when he is completely unconscious. A very cuddly reptile. He turns off the lamp and slides back onto his side of the bed. He has a _side of the bed now_. Officially. It isn’t ten minutes before a warm, heavy weight settled alongside him in the dark. 

\----

Noise. Be gone noise. He doesn’t like you, noise. So you can just kindly fuck off now.

Darren scrunches his nose up without opening his eyes. There is some electronic-sounding _noise_ that keeps tapping on the inside of his skull repeatedly. Noise wants him to open up his eyes, but he refuses. Not happening, noise. So go away.

The noise finally cuts off, and Darren is grateful. He tightens his arm around whatever he is holding onto and enjoys the soft something that is pillowing his cheek. 

Another noise. _What the actual fuck?_

Is it possible to kill a sound? Maim it at least? Maybe just temporarily kick its ass until it can no longer noise for an extended period of time? 

Whatever the god forsaken sound was, it started and stopped on a loop, until settling back into silence for a while, and then was replaced with a quieter buzzing that wasn’t nearly as offensive to his ears. What the hell was that? It almost reminded him of his dad’s…

“Oh god, my parents.” He rolls away from Chris’ body, laying flat on his back. He lets his mind fully engage and his eyes adjust to the light. He hadn’t intended to stay the night. His parents would know where he was of course, but it was still pretty shitty of him. He knew he’d hear about it later. He looked down and saw his lack of pants. _Huh._ He didn’t remember _that_ either. He heard the muffled vibrating of a cell phone somewhere nearby, and forces his body to sit up with a groan. His jeans are lying in a heap next to Chris’ bed. He grabs them and pulls the cell phone from the pocket. Four missed calls, one from his mom and three from his dad. 

_Fuck._

His phone vibrates in his hand with another text. He scrubs at his eyes with his fingers to be able to squint and read the screen.

The first text had been almost an hour ago. He hurriedly got up from the bed and walked across the room and out into the hall, shutting the door behind him so not to wake Chris up. He dialed his mom’s number.

“Hey, Mama. Yeah, yeah I’m still over here. I’m sorry. Yeah. No, I know, Ma. I’ll be there. I’ll ask him. Okay, _okay_ , yeah we’ll both be there. Yes. Love you, too. See you in a little while. Okay. Bye.” Darren lets his head drop back against the wall with a thump, the phone hanging loosely from his hand. He glances down to where Cooper sits wagging his tail at his feet. “I stay in trouble,” he informs the dog as if looking for sage wisdom or sympathy.

He gets neither. Only a panting pink tongue and a look that clearly asks _“Other human come to play? Give yummy meat stuffs?”_

Darren shakes his head. “Sorry, dude. Gotta go incur the wrath of your dad.” He slips back into the bedroom to see that Chris has rolled into the center of the bed, and thrown an arm over his eyes. The sheets of the bed are tangled around his thighs, providing Darren with a vividly full and unobstructed view of the substantial bulge in his tight, blue briefs. His t-shirt has ridden up, likely when he rolled over and flung his arm over his face to block out the sun, showing off a glorious few inches of pale skin and light brown hair that peeks out from just above the elastic band. He can make out the ridged line of Chris’ cock through the thin cotton, the rounded shape of one of his balls, and the sprawled bend of one of his legs before it disappears under the sheet. The effect is instantaneous. All the blood flow required to make Darren’s brain function, is immediately redirected south.

He could say he looked at the clock and mentally tabulated how much time they could possibly have before they’d need to get ready and leave to go meet his parents across town for breakfast, but that would be a bald faced lie. The truth is, he moved forward like a sleepwalker until his knees hit the edge of the bed. Tangling one hand in the thin material of the sheet, he pulls it down and off the end of the bed exposing the full length of Chris’ toned legs to his eyes, which were now devouring him as if Chris’ body was the last meal Darren would ever have. He moves like he really was in a dream, lowering himself down onto the mattress, on his knees, between those sprawled legs. He settles his hands on Chris’ knees and just presses his fingers in, feeling the warm smooth skin over the hard bone underneath. He sits back to ground himself and keep from falling forward and burying his face in the humid swell in Chris’ navy blue underwear which is already making his saliva glands overproduce. It’s not possible, but Darren could swear that he can already _smell_ …

“Chris.” His voice is low and wet, he swallows. “I need you to wake up.” His fingers slide around and grip at the tender skin behind his knees and dig in.. “Wake up, Chris.” 

Chris’ legs flex under his hands and the moan that echoes from his chest only makes Darren’s breathing that more ragged. The arm finally drops to lay on the pillow beside his face. “What?” Chris’ voice was scratchy with sleep and even through his barely-slitted eyes, Darren can tell by the downturn of his perfectly pink lips that he is being glared at.

He drags his fingertips up Chris’ thighs, alerting him to the massive morning erection that he was sporting that had practically teleported Darren across the room. He moistens his lips and then finally looks up to meet Chris’ eyes again. They’re a drowsy dazed blue, that almost matches the cotton wrapped so teasingly around his dick. “We uh, had the matter of my present to discuss.”

Chris reaches down and tries to shove Darren’s sweaty hands away from his inner thighs. “Get over yourself, I’m not blowing you right now. I’m tired.” He doesn’t look tired, his face is alert and interested even if his eyes stay narrowed on Darren’s.

“I guess it’s good that that isn’t what I want.” He tilts his head to one side and lets one of his hands drift up to trace his fingers along the crease of Chris’ thigh, tracing along the leg band of his briefs. “We have to meet my parents in an hour, and do a total walk of shame situation. Wouldn’t it just be a waste if we didn’t do anything to feel a _little_ ashamed of?” He’d never feel ashamed of anything he did with this man, ever, but the raised eyebrow that Chris gives him tells Darren that he’s still listening. He lets the same hand drift up to nudge his fingers against Chris’ balls, _fucking Christ_ , he can feel the heat through the fabric. 

Chris stays silent, looking down and watching as Darren’s long musician's fingers skim and trace the lumps and ridges of his erection over his underwear. Neither of them speak, Darren’s hands growing bolder with each passing moment. Caressing, coaxing. Darren works him expertly, stroking up the familiar shape of the slight curve in Chris’ shaft until he is fully hard. He massages just under the large bump of the head until a spot of moisture stains the dark blue material to black. Chris lets out a helpless whimpering noise when Darren bows his head to rub his red lips over the damp spot. 

He looks up at Chris still bent low over his body. “Yeah?” He has to be sure. He’ll always be sure. Chris’ chest is rising and falling quickly under his faded Superman t-shirt, his hair messy and flattened on one side of his head. When he draws his bottom lip in and between his teeth and nods, he is the single most beautiful thing Darren had ever seen. 

He yanks the front of the underwear down far enough that it allows Chris’ long pink cock to snap up onto his flat stomach, leaving them caught around his thighs. As long as he has access to the fun bits, he wasn’t going to waste any additional effort. He presses his lips to the base and then waits for Chris’ eyes to meet his, lust-blown blue meeting burning-liquid gold, before he gives Chris a cheeky wink and drags the flat of his tongue up along the snaking vein to the sensitive indention under the bloom of the head. Chris throws his head back and lets out a sinful sound that radiates through the air and right into Darren’s own dick.

He licks at the open, weeping tip, fucking the tip of his tongue into the wide slit. Chris is bigger here than any other guy Darren had ever seen, in person, porn, or otherwise. Though he isn’t exactly sure what otherwise could entail, but in any case, it was unbelievably hot. He lapped up the sticky drops of precome, feeling them coat the inside of his mouth. He finally takes Chris fully into his mouth when one large hand grabs at the collar of his shirt and pulls, nearly choking him to death. He bobs his head, working to take him deeper without gagging like some fucking amateur. Darren had never acquired Chris’ masterful skill at swallowing a dick right down his throat like it was an aspirin or something, but he had a few tricks of his own. Twisting his head as he worked his lips up and down the length, he tugs at Chris’ heavy balls with his hand.

“”That’s, _oh_.” Chris groans quietly with his eyes locked onto the white ceiling above him. He is the opposite of Darren when it comes to visual stimuli and sex. Chris avoids _looking_ for the most part as to _feel_ the wet channel of the mouth surrounding him all the more. Darren watches _him_ though, he sees the way Chris licks his lips incessantly, almost as if he was chasing the ghost of a taste that should naturally accompany the intimate acts that involve hungry mouths and hard cocks. Darren couldn’t blame him, there is nothing quite like it. The taste and weight of Chris was heavy on his tongue and invading all his senses. It was sweat-salty and masculine bitterness. 

He didn’t even realize that his own free hand had snaked under his body and into his underwear to grasp his straining erection, until Chris was gasping out and grabbing onto his bicep with bruising force.

“No, don’t. Please? Let me. Just wait?” He tugs at Darren’s arm, trying to draw it away from his cock where it feels quite good, actually. Darren grunts around him, trying to express as much displeasure with that idea as possible when there is a dick halfway down this throat. He resists against Chris’ pulling, increasing the speed of his bobbing and hoping to distract him. “No, just… Hands, c’mere.” Chris leans up and finally pulls Darren’s hand free from his boxers and into his own. He holds both of Darren’s hands in his, tangling their fingers together, pressing them to the heaving skin of his stomach. “I’ll get you, baby. Wait for me.”

Chris’ strong hands around his squeeze in time with the upwards pulls of Darren’s mouth. It’s dizzyingly erotic to not be able to touch Chris with anything besides his mouth. His face is a spit-covered sloppy mess from nose to neck, and his jaw and lips are starting to ache, but he can’t focus on anything but the way Chris looks above him red-faced and sweating, and the way he can feel him rhythmically clench and release the already tight muscles in his ass as he fights to keep from thrusting further down Darren’s throat.

The breathy “ _ah ah ah_ ” is the only sound in Darren’s world besides the pulse of his blood pounding inside his ears. Chris’ hands tighten around his until both of their fingers are white and bloodless, and Darren can tell that Chris is about to come. He focused on the head of the twitching cock in his mouth and pressed his tongue against the underside, holding Chris firmly to the roof of his mouth, silently urging him along towards the finish line. _Come on, Angel. Give it up for me. I’ve earned it._

He’s so fixated on making his lover come that he doesn’t feel himself tipping over the edge until he feels the air rushing past him as he free falls off the side of the cliff. Darren gasps and lets a deep groan rattle from his bones into Chris’ cock, as he comes in messy strings in his underwear. He pulls off, and drops his forehead to Chris’ hip to try and catch a breath, he feels dizzy and unsteady from the sudden onslaught. 

Darren misses Chris’ wide eyed gasp, as he realizes that Darren had just come, completely untouched, and Chris bucks up, following him right over. Chris comes over the side of Darren’s face and down onto his own stomach in hot rushes of white. 

Twin heartbeats race, sweat cooling on damp skin. The morning begins to settle around them as their minds clear enough to see more than white behind their eyelids. Chris seems to regain muscle function first. “I can’t believe you just did that. Are you thirteen?” He wriggles down the bed so that his face is more level with Darren’s, the hectic red flush in his face makes his eyes look even brighter, the lines forming into deep crinkles as he tries not to laugh out loud. He lays there with his stained blue briefs still rolled halfway down his thighs. 

Darren turns his head to lay facing him. “You’re mean.” His voice is exhausted and scratchy, unsurprisingly. 

Chris grins, leaning in and kisses his swollen, raw, red lips. His licks a small smear of his own come from Darren’s stubbily upper lip and makes a soft contented noise in the back of his throat that sounds adorably like a purr to Darren, before pressing his tongue back between Darren’s lips and into his mouth. 

“Dirty,” Darren tells him with his eyes shut. He isn’t sure if he means _Chris_ is a dirty boy, or _he_ is because of the huge, wet mess in his boxers, or if they _both_ are because… yeah. They’re two sweaty, rumpled, come-covered motherfuckers at the moment. Probably all of the above. 

“ _I’m_ dirty? You have come in your hair.”

He snorts into Chris’ neck. “I don’t doubt it. We need showers, and I’m going to have to borrow some clothes if we wanna meet up with my folks.” It won’t be the first time they’ve had to make due with one another’s clothing, Darren was sure that it wouldn’t be the last.

Darren gives himself a moment before either of them go clean up. He was more than satisfied with his “gift”. Taking Chris apart like that, knowing _he_ had been the one to make him feel that way, would always feel better to him than anything else.

\----

They have to utilize both his bathrooms to shower at the same time. Chris had laid out a blue button-down, that was a size too large for him, the color similar to the one that he’d worn the day before, that Darren had complimented him on. He’d have to wear his own jeans however, as Darren looked freaking ridiculous in Chris’ pants. When Darren came back into the room with a dark colored towel wrapped around his waist, and saw the clothing laid out neatly, he kissed the back of Chris’ shoulder in thanks.

Chris didn’t even bother to try and hide the fact that he was watching Darren’s reflection in the mirror as Darren unwound the towel from around himself and used it to rub at his hair. Chris was treated to a delicious view of Darren’s muscled back, ass, and legs, that caused him to pause, with his fingers combed through the front of his own hair. _Wait for it…_ Chris bit down on his own lip, and waited until Darren shrugged into the shirt. He fully expected to hear Darren cuss or throw the small wad of fabric at him, but neither occurred. The other man didn’t seem to bat an eyelash as he stepped into a pair of tight short-cut briefs with Mickey Mouse smiling out from the ass. He wasn’t able to repress his laughter when Darren just glanced at him over his shoulder and blew Chris a kiss. 

They make it to BLD only fifteen minutes late, a fact that Chris considers a near miracle considering how they’d spent their morning. They park and enter through the side entrance, finding Darren’s parents at a small back table. He hugs Darren’s mother, a beautiful woman with dancing eyes whose small size had always seemed to belie the way that her presence filled a room. Darren had gotten that from her. His father was quieter, with a reflective steadiness that Chris could relate to. They were both wonderful people who showed their love for their son in every look, word, and casual touch. It made him miss his own family.

After they ordered, Chris talked at length to Darren’s parents about London and the subject of his new movie and the book release. Darren seemed content to listen and play with Chris’ fingers where they rested on the tabletop between their empty place settings. Darren, at one point during their meal, slides his silver ring off his hand and places it, one-handed ( _how in the Hell?_ ) around the tip of Chris’ finger and down to the first knuckle. Chris rolls his eyes and slides the ring into a more secure place on his finger. The constant passing back and forth between them had become somewhat of a game. 

After they eat and the time approaches for his parents to get on the road to head back to San Francisco, his mother pulls out her phone and says she wants to take a picture of the both of them. Chris hesitates for a moment, old habits die hard, but he shakes it off as Darren pulls him by his arm around the side of the table to stand next to each other. This was who they were now, who they would be. This was okay, and Chris found that he liked it more than he had ever imagined he would. He places his hand on the small of Darren’s back lightly, and without worrying about how he looked in the photo, he smiles. After Darren’s mom takes her picture, Chris pulls his own phone from his pocket and unlocks it, asking if she’d mind taking one for him, too. When Darren hears this, he shuffles impossibly closer, his smile so wide that his eyes squint into slits. 

She hands back the phone and Chris looks at the photo. They look… _right_. He opens his settings menu and saves the picture to the front of his phone.

\---

Chris is still talking to his mom when Darren excuses himself to go and use the restroom. He loved having the most important people in his life together like this. It made him comfortable and satisfied in a way that he hadn’t even known that he was looking for. When he stepped out of the bathroom his father was standing outside the men’s room door. “You okay, Dad?” His father nodded his head and Darren folded his arms over his chest, his father’s eyes were trained on his face. This was… _different_. He figured that his dad had something to say so Darren just stood and waited it out.

“Chris,” his father finally started. “Your mom really likes him. We both do.”

_Uh, good?_ “Yeah, I kinda like him, too.” He smirks and waits for his dad to say whatever is really on his mind. 

He watches his dad shuffle his weight back and forth between his feet. “That thing with the ring. Is that something that you have thought about?”

_Wait, what?_ Darren feels his blood pressure raise about thirty points. “No, _no_ we were just being dumb. We just-”

“Because if it were, we would be fine with that. You’ll remember that I gave your brother a piece of your grandmother’s jewelry that he ended up giving to the girl with the odd laugh that he dated in college. I wish he hadn't, but that’s neither here nor there. I have something set aside for you as well. If you ever wanted to give something special to…. _someone_.” His dad looks equally uncomfortable as he had when he gave Darren “the talk” when he was thirteen, a year or two too late. _I mean, hello? Internet._ He appreciates the gesture, as awkward and premature as it might be.

“Yeah, thanks, Old Man. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

His dad looks visibly relieved to see Darren laugh off the offer and hug his neck, lessening the intensity of the moment.

Someone special. Something special. Maybe, someday.


	22. Compromise - Chris and Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, not a lot of action in this chapter. Major groundwork is being laid for big things to come!

He is usually remarkably good at buckling down and getting shit done. Most people his age would have never been able to facilitate the type of schedule that he has for the past… five years? Had it really been five years? Chris knew how to work, it had been the predominant part of his adult life thus far. He was good at working and had never minded the insanity of his schedule. Keeping busy and productive was good for him.

Until it wasn’t.

As good as he was at keeping his head on the task at hand, at getting what was sitting in front of him accomplished, there were some things that he wasn’t able to ignore. Things like getting an unexpected call from Darren while he’d been sitting in his office with his manager and assistant going over his schedule for the upcoming week, and deciding exactly when the best time for him to return to the UK would be. There were more pre-production meetings that would require him to be there in person, don’t ask him _why_. This was the 21st century. Skype, fax machines. The trip would have to be fit in around the preparations for his book tour. Chris really didn’t want to leave, his time before things got crazy again was being cut even shorter than he’d previously expected, but there was nothing he could do. He was passionate about this film, and was willing to do just about anything to see it happen. It wasn’t as though he didn’t already know that his summer would be busy, his life was just that way. How could he have known three months ago, that he would now have such a large incentive to _want_ to take life a little slower, to _want_ to stay? 

Nothing about the fact that Darren would be calling just before lunchtime on an average workday, was out of the ordinary, not now. These were people he trusted and who he knew would come to accept the more permanent place that Darren had in his life now, even if they both had reservations about the idea initially. He hadn't thought twice about answering the call in front of them, not until he heard the flat tone in Darren's voice.

He had sounded defeated, tired, his voice muted in a way that made Chris feel unsettled. He’d had to excuse himself from the room and slipped into his bedroom to try and find out what was wrong. As he sat on the edge of the bed, he listened as Darren explained that in order to participate in an upcoming event that he had been thrilled to be asked to be a part of, he would have to bring his friend along for the sake of preliminary damage control. Chris couldn’t understand why it was making him act so despondent. How was this different from anything he had always had to do? But it was clear that Darren was taking this one to heart.

“It’s the fucking principal! I _want_ to go, they could have asked anyone. It’s important. But I am going to look like the biggest asshole in the world by fronting at something like this. Not to mention how I’m going to _feel_.” He understood that. Darren felt things like anyone else, only amplified to the nth degree. Chris would be genuinely terrified to go through life letting every single thing in and under his skin like that, but as frightening as the concept was, he admired Darren for it even more. 

But it _was_ important, and he should feel really honored about having been asked to sing. Yeah, it was a compromise, but it was a doable one. He did his best to convey enough logic that Darren would see that this wasn’t as big of a deal as he was making it out to be. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand Darren wanting to stand his ground, but Chris thought he should be a little wiser in picking his battles. That had always been a source of contention between them. Darren, who jumped through hoops every day of his life, who smiled when any other man would have been screaming and out for blood, would suddenly act as though posing for a simple photo was a blasphemous sin. It wasn’t a bad compromise, he just needed to slow down and take a breath. He did, as Chris listened on the other end of the line, and then Chris asked. “Better?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m fine. I’ve gotta be somewhere. I’ll talk to you later, alright?” For a trained actor, the delivery was far from convincing.

Chris let him hang up anyway. They both had more than their fair share of work to get done. Minutes after rejoining his friends and trying to immerse himself back into work-mode, Chris couldn’t take his mind off of the way that Darren had sounded on the phone. he wasn’t angry or even sad, he just sounded _beaten_. Chris was certain that that was worse. 

He was usually very good at keeping himself focused, and any other day he would have just thrown himself back into what they desperately needed to get done, but today wasn’t any other day. Today was a day when the man who made Chris believe in natural goodness and the simple joys in life, was letting the world bowl him over and make him feel hopeless. A world where Darren wasn’t smiling and laughing didn’t sit right with him, it felt like an irritant against his skin and wood splinters underneath his fingernails. As hard as he tried to listen to what his friends were telling him about flights and production companies, and script negotiations, his mind was on the subdued quality in that voice. He couldn’t put off thinking about it until later, not worry about whatever drama Darren was going through until it was more convenient for him. Burying himself in work right now so that he would be free to spend time with Darren later just wasn’t a compromise that Chris was willing to make.

Standing up and telling them both that he had to go, went about as well as Chris figured it would. “What?” “We have to book the reservations.” “You can’t keep taking off like this.”

He was sorry. Yeah, he knew that, go ahead and book whatever you need to. He had to go.

Chris made short work of his exit from the room, he knew it bordered on rude, he would just have to apologize later. A three second text on his way out to his car confirmed that Darren was at home. That was all that he needed to know. 

\----

He stops at the convenience store for a mundane enough reason, he needed to get gas. It was an obnoxious, unpleasant chore that came with adulthood, the gasoline fumes and the sweltering hot asphalt, but it was a necessary evil. Chris paid for his gas, and walked inside to buy himself a drink. He grabbed a Diet Coke from the cooler case, and was standing in line behind a woman with really badly done highlights, berating someone through her cell phone, when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Without stopping to think twice about it, he reached out and grabbed the yellow plastic bag hanging on a small display beside the cash register.

Chris had never understood the allure of ridiculously sour candy. He remembered kids being obsessed with the stuff when he was in elementary school but he hadn’t ever seen the appeal of eating something that made your eyes water and caused your mouth to pucker up like you’d just bitten into a lemon. Yet here he was with a sour lemon flavored hard candy in his mouth. _Shit, that was sour_. The writer and creator in him appreciated the irony of the fact that the sweetest man he knew only liked sour flavored candy. 

Chris catches himself after that thought, looking at his watery eyes and pinched-looking face in the rearview mirror. God, that had been disgusting. Sweetest man in the world? _Seriously?_ He never thought he would have been the type to even allow such cheesy clichés to pass through his mind, but... Since the moment those wide, round, green-gold eyes and contagious grin had entered his life, he had been the exception to Chris' everything. Rules had never applied to him. Darren had been let into his life, into his heart, and into his bed almost without a second thought, and in one way or another, had remained there ever since. Maybe everyone had that one person in their life who is the exception to every mental rule and standard they ever set for themselves, or maybe Chris had just gotten really lucky enough to meet his when and how he did.

So here he is, eating piece after piece of sour lemon candy that he doesn’t even _like_ , so that he can kiss a man who he isn’t even convinced _should_ be so upset, but can’t stop thinking about nonetheless, with the flavor of his favorite candy on his lips. If this is what being in love is, Chris thinks he can live with that.

\----

Darren had never set out to buy a house with a pool. It wasn’t something that had figured into his plans at all when he had gotten the show, and started drawing a decent paycheck of his own, for once. When he had started looking at places, he wanted some place with personality, somewhere private, obviously, with a lot of natural light and killer acoustics for a small home studio. As it turned out, all of the houses in this part of town had swimming pools. It wasn’t something that he used often, I mean, who actually installs a bean-shaped, salt water pool? Oh, the previous owners of his house, _right_. He paid someone to come in once a month to treat and clean the thing, and his friends enjoyed it when they’d come over a few times, but for the most part, Darren’s pool was a lonely, sad, unappreciated little thing. 

So it takes him by surprise when after ending the call with his manager, and squeezing the phone tight in his fist with a noise of frustration, that his eyes are drawn outside to the pool. Something about the glassy, smooth, still water calls to him, and Darren refuses to think that it has anything at all to do with the fact that the cerulean color reminds him of someone’s crying eyes. _His_ someone.

He lays back in the water, spreads his arms out to his sides, and lets himself float freely on his back. He lets all of the tension release from every muscle in his body, supported only by the cool water. He let his head hang back, the water filling his ears and drowning out every other sound besides his own breathing. Why couldn't he be like this? Just let himself be carried along by the gentle sway of the waters around him, unaffected by anything else. Life seems like it would be so much more simple if he could, if he was able to just go along with things without feeling the need to fight back. Having to struggle and fight for every goddamn thing that you believe in, may sound empowering and brave in theory, but in reality, it was just fucking exhausting. 

Every inch and fragment of truth of himself, that he was allowed to show to the world, had to be paid for with a pound of his own integrity. Always with the give and the take. This was his life, and would be for the foreseeable future. Most days he was able to accept it for what it was, to see how the good in his world outweighed the bad, time and time again. He could help people, make a difference in the world, have a chance to get his message out there, even if it had to be presented through a blurred filter. He got it, and most days it was relatively okay. But others...

“...ren?”

He wasn’t sure if he actually heard the soft trail end of a voice calling his name, or if he had summoned it up in his mind to lessen the sting of the thoughts that threatened to pull him down under the water and let him drown. 

“You look like a dead frog.”

Okay, he probably wouldn’t have thought _that_ up. Darren opens his eyes and squints at the black silhouette, backlit by the bright noon day sun. Even his hazy, blurry outline makes Darren’s mouth go dry and his breath quicken, he’s just that damn beautiful. 

He swims over to the edge, just below where Chris stands. “I thought you had stuff to do.”

“I did.” Chris squats down at the side of the pool so that they are closer to each other’s level. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m…” Fine? Is he? It’s what he feels like he should say, but lying to Chris is one thing he had never made a habit of. “I’ll get over it. I just thought that maybe they’d let me do this one thing my way.” He shrugs and kicks his feet under the surface to tread the water beneath him. “You didn’t have to come all the way over here.”

“I did. I needed to give you something.”

Another present? Darren liked presents. Chris did have one hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans. Small present then? “What’s that?”

One corner of Chris’ lips pulled up into a lopsided half smile. He grabbed onto the concrete rim of the pool with both hands and leaned forward, bringing his face downward over Darren’s until he got the hint and pushed himself up to press their lips together. Chris caught Darren’s lower lip between his and ran the tip of his warm tongue across the length of it. There was something sweet and familiar on his breath that Darren couldn’t immediately place, until Chris leaned forward another inch and thrust his tongue into Darren’s mouth. He made a surprised noise when he tasted the tangy sour bite of lemon from Chris’ mouth. It reminded Darren of the little round, yellow sweet and sour candies that he kept in bowls in his house, dressing room, and stuck into the cup holders in his car, only about a million and a half times better. Darren groaned and used his arms against the edge of the pool to push back, forcing himself closer so that he could seek out more of the taste. The contrast of the burning hot, wet cavern of Chris’ mouth compared to the cold water all around him caused goosebumps to prickle up all over his bare arms, chest, and back. The kiss was precarious, with Chris leaning far out over the water and Darren holding himself up with only his arms to support his weight. He lapped up much of the taste as he could until Chris drew back, forcing a small discontented whimper from Darren’s throat as he began to pull away. 

Darren licks his lips, greedily swiping up the taste of the sticky sweet candy. God, it tastes so much better on Chris than himself. “Wha… You taste just like-”

The grin on Chris’ face is nothing short of impish, as he draws his hand from the pocket of his jeans and shows Darren the fist full of crinkled Lemonhead candy wrappers. But Chris hates those damn things, he had said so on numerous occasions. Why would he…

“I thought you deserved a little treat to brighten your day.” 

“Want to come in with me? Give me another taste since you seem to have eaten all my candy?”

Chris shakes his head and sits down Indian style in the grass by the side of the pool. “I’ll pass. You go right ahead. I don’t have a suit anyway.”

“Bathing suit not required. I can always just take these off, might be even more fun.” He pulls at the waistband of his own black swimming trunks, smiles, and gives Chris what he thinks is an enticing look. 

When Chris snorts and begins laughing, Darren figures he failed. “Is there anything you wouldn’t rather do naked?”

Darren’s answer is immediate. “Yes, make french fries. That is a mistake you only make once.” He pretends to shudder as his mind drifts back to a considerably bad idea involving himself, a lot of vodka, cut up potatoes, and 325 degree popping grease back when he was in college. He still bore the small scar on the lower left side of his hip.

Chris just rolled his eyes and pulled at a few blades of grass, ripping them from the ground only to throw them back down. “I also wanted to say that I shouldn’t tell you what concessions and compromises to make. No one should. That’s entirely your call. I’m not in your shoes, I honestly don’t know how I’d handle it. I’m proud of you for wanting to stand up and it was amazing that they asked for you, but if going and having to bring someone else with you makes you feel weird about it, don’t do it. I am the last person who should ever make you feel pressured about the decisions you make.” Chris looked embarrassed, like he’d done something wrong by telling Darren to suck it up and be a fucking adult about things. It was an incredible opportunity and an important event, he _should_ do whatever he had to do to be able to be a part of it in any way that he could. Chris reaches out and rubs a few stray drops of chlorine and saltwater off of Darren’s creased forehead. Chris’ eyes had gone soft and stunningly blue in the sunlight. “There are more than enough people trying to tell you what to do every day. I’m not going to be one of them, I promise.”

Darren shakes his head, his hand flashing out and grabbing onto Chris’ tightly. “No, I know that. You were right, though. I was just overreacting.”

“The way you are feeling can’t be right or wrong, Dare. It just is.” He pushes a few curls behind Darren’s ears and lets out a deep sigh that seems to deflate his chest. “There’s something else. I have to go back to London.”

He nods his head. _Yeah, and?_ Darren was well aware of the fact that Chris would have to begin filming his movie in a month. They’d had many discussions about it and about the apartment in Bayswater. Oh, was that what this was? Had Chris finally come to a decision about where he wanted to stay? Did he want Darren to try and come visit him over there or not?

Chris reads the lack of understanding in his face. “I have to go back next week. There’s some pre-production stuff they’re insisting that I be there for. I’ll have to be back in time for the book release, so it’s going to be cutting it close time-wise, but… yeah.”

_Oh._

Darren had known, and tried to mentally prepare himself for the way that Chris’ life was going to become a whirlwind of constant travel and work when he left for his book tour in a couple of weeks. It was just how things were, and so they had collectively decided to spend as much time together as possible until then. But now he would be leaving earlier than they’d thought, and that… sucked. It really did. But this role in England was a dream come true for Chris, an honest to goodness, adult, dramatic role that he would be fucking amazing in. Darren had been ecstatic when he’d first heard that Chris was being offered the part, but that had been before knowing the extent of how damn badly he was going to miss him.

But this is what they did. They went out and lived their lives, seized opportunities, and tried to do work they felt passionately about. Chris would be incredible and have the time of his life, and Darren would be happier for him than anyone else on the planet. Even if he also missed him so much that it felt like each hour Chris was gone cut deep lines into his flesh with a razor blade. He smiled, hoping that his eyes didn’t betray him. Because after the movie wrapped and the summer drew to a close, Chris would be coming back home, back to _him_.

“So I guess that means we have a week left then?

Chris tries to smile and nods his head.

“Then get those clothes off, and get your sweet ass in here, Colfer. The water’s perfect.”


	23. Animals - Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a slow beta because Zinnia had a giggling "Desi, you suck so much. I **hate** you!" breakdown over all the fluff. You know things are getting good when your darling betas threaten to drive all the way to Georgia just to punch you in the face. Enjoy.

The idea had been Darren’s, one “date” every day for a week, to make up for the time when they would soon be separated by an ocean, instead of just by miles. Chris knew that he had a veritable mountain of work to do, and preparations that needed to be made, before he had to fly out to meet with the film producers and studio people again. But he wasn’t about to reject an idea that would give him a few hours a day alone with Darren. If the world were simple, and life were more fair, they would be able to spend as much time together as they liked, but it wasn’t. They would just have to fit as much warmth and touch into the space of a week as they could. The dates would alternate, Chris’ choice one day, followed by Darren’s, worked in around whatever else they had to do that day. Chris would prefer to just stay in, and spend as much time with Darren’s solid body in his arms, greedily hoarding up on hours upon hours with their mouths fused together, but he didn’t think that was going to cut it.

His first idea may not be the most inventive one, a movie, but to him it seems to be a decent enough compromise. It would be amazing to walk hand in hand with Darren to the the box office window, at the closest movie theater, and just choose at random whatever was playing next, but in the middle of the afternoon in Los Angeles, that isn’t really an option. Not for them. God, what would it even be like to be able to just do whatever and go wherever they wanted without having to think it over and plan accordingly first? You’d have no control over anything, all your life left completely up to chance. Chris isn’t sure if the idea would be a form of heaven or hell. 

Still, the idea of a proper movie date with Darren isn’t one that he’s able to shake off. As comfortable as Darren’s couch is, no matter what kind on speakers he has installed, there is one universal fact that cannot be disputed; there is no way to make microwave popcorn taste the same, as movie theater popcorn. There is just a fundamental difference that has to do with greasy butter-like substances of unknown chemical composition and popcorn salt, that can never be replicated in someone’s kitchen. Chris is a writer, and his mind works in detailed three-dimensional imagery. That image dictates and insists upon sitting in the dark and watching a movie that he doesn’t care about, next to the person that he _does_ , with a paper bucket in his lap containing _real_ popcorn. There is no room for substitutions. 

He had only gotten a short curious look when he’d asked the teenaged girl sitting in the box office window if he could walk inside the deserted movie theater lobby to buy popcorn. He couldn’t be the _only_ person who ever did this, right? Three minutes and $9.75 later, he is walking back out to his car with the largest size popcorn they sold, extra “butter” strapped into the passenger seat of his car with the seatbelt, and on his way to Darren’s.

They already decided on not choosing a movie until Chris got there, just picking up the remote, turning on the tv, and seeing what was on. Chris didn’t understand Darren’s insistence on that plan, but he hadn’t fought him on it. Chris was good at picking his battles.

As it turns out, there aren’t many movies that neither one of them has never seen nor heard about, and the simple task ends up taking almost an hour.

“How about this one?”

“No. It’s stupid.”

“How do you know it’s stupid?”

“It smells stupid from here. Next.”

“This? Seriously? There are killer, man-eating fish, Darren.”

“Well you wanted crime fighting guinea pigs.”

“So? That one looks good!”

“Tell me you haven’t ever seen it before.”

“...it was a long time ago! I have completely forgotten it!”

“Neeeext.”

They eventually settle on something after much eye-rolling and snickering at one another’s expense. To heighten the overall movie theater illusion, Darren turns out all the lights and wedges a heavy throw pillow between their bodies to make up for the lack of an arm rest. When Chris sees it, he pouts. That will only impede his cuddling ability. What’s a movie on a couch with a wickedly gorgeous man, without cuddling? He only has so much time to wind his arms around Darren’s waist, and nestle his head onto the other man’s shoulder. Chris’ cuddling time is of vital importance. When he tries to grab the pillow and throw it as far across the room as he is physically capable of, Darren holds it firmly in place.

“Pillow stays.”

Chris scowls. “Why does the pillow stay? It’s in my way.” _I want to touch as much of you as I can before I can’t._

Darren’s grin is toothy and makes his cheeks puff up and his eyes squint. “Because this is a first date and you might try to cop of a feel. I am not that kinda boy.”

Chris snorts. “Sure you’re not.”

Darren settles back into the couch next to him, grabs the bucket of popcorn from Chris’ lap, and places it into his own. “You can try to do the stretchy thing and put your arm around my shoulder. I might not accuse you of being too fresh.”

Chris laughs under his breath and watches the television screen, eyes calm, while in his head making a promise to himself to have this man gasping and desperate, with perfect sweat-damp skin sliding against Chris’ own, and pleading to be taken into Chris’ hand so that he can come already, by the time the night was over. “I’ll think about it.”

The movie is unsurprisingly horrible, much as one would expect for a B-grade sci-fi film that no one has ever heard of playing on TMC in the middle of the week. Chris’ interest is drawn easily away. He feels almost hypnotized as he watches Darren suck the traces of imitation butter and salt from his long fingers one by one. _Oh, that is just in no way fair._ Chris lifts his drink to his lips and takes a long sip to try to extinguish a thirst that Diet Coke is highly unlikely to satisfy. A tiny dribble of soda runs down his chin when he can’t take his eyes off of the way the tv casts blue, black, and purple shadows across Darren’s face and reflects almost silver in his wide, expressive eyes.

Darren sighs happily and shakes the popcorn bucket around in his lap, trying to select a kernel with optimal butter coverage. “This is one of the better ideas that you’ve ever had.”

Chris gives him one of his closed mouth smiles. This, here, now, _him_ , all of it, it certainly was.

\----

They lie together on top of the pale colored blankets on Darren's bed, Chris on his stomach with his head pillowed on his folded arms, and Darren half-draped across his naked back. Being undressed with someone like this, when there is nothing sexual or seeking about the moment, wasn't something that Chris had ever pictured himself being comfortable with. He's not self conscious about his body like he was a few years ago. He has worked hard on his form, and he knows that it has paid off, he has heard and read the comments, and the appraisal in people's eyes. That isn't what this is, though. The comfort and ease he feels around Darren like this, stems from a hard-won acceptance that comes from Darren being the first person who has ever looked upon him and makes him feel whole and perfect like this. Even if he wasn't the only one who had ever seen Chris’ body, there had been other men in the times when he and Darren were forcing themselves in a self-imposed exile from each other and all they were. And although Chris doesn’t regret any of his decisions, they had all been people that he liked and respected, who made him learn things about himself and his body. However, he never felt an inch of the comfort that he knows with Darren. Darren had been the first, and as far as Chris is concerned, he would gladly have him be the last.

Chris' mind was in a sweet and tranquil place, where he was only vaguely aware of Darren's skin pressed against his, and the brush of hair and soft lips caressing the length of his spine. His brain may not register it, but his body does, shivering and clenching his toes in the bedsheets. 

Darren lays himself out over Chris' back, the coarser hair on his stomach tickles the sensitive rise of Chris' ass, as he walks his fingertips across his shoulders. Each one of the pale brown freckles is given a name and a back story, usually named after Disney characters or Shakespearean heroes. He expands upon which ones fell in love and which ones were villains, each tale becoming more intricate and ridiculous than the last, taking the time to press a gentle kiss to those who met a tragic end or those he likes most. 

“And this is Figaro. He is in love with this little dark guy riiiiiight here.” Darren touches his lips to a place just under Chris’ hairline. “His name is Dinkus.”

Chris giggles into the blanket under him. “Dinkus?”

“Yes, Dinkus. He is kind of a tool-”

“Really? Gee, would have never guessed that.”

“Quiet. Dinkus is sort of a tool, but he loves the shit out of Figaro. He knows they probably shouldn’t be together, star-crossed back and neck rivalries and all that, but he doesn’t care. Figaro is the best thing he has ever known and he’d fight like hell for him, with all of his little self. It also helps that Figaro has a killer ass, for a freckle, that is.”

Chris knows he isn’t talking about freckles, and he closes his eyes again and nestles his cheek into the bed. 

"What kind of animals are we?" From anyone else it possibly would have been an odd question to have while naked and in bed, but this was Darren.

"You? You’re obviously a big, hairy, drooling-"

"You can't say puppy."

 _Dammit._ Chris grins against his arm. "Yeah, yeah. What kind of animal am I then?"

Darren is quiet for a minute, considering, while he draws lazy circles across the back of Chris' neck with his fingers. "You're a dragonfly."

Dragonfly. Out of all possible answers, of all of the species in the world, he is a bug? Chris frowns and opens his eyes to look back at Darren. "Okay, explain."

Darren’s lips quirk into a small smile and he looks a little embarrassed. "Well, you're like this silent and touchable thing that just soars above the rest of the world, all vibrating with nervous energy. Mind-blowingly complex and fucking flawless, beautiful in a way like nothing else is. Graceful. Fascinating." He shrugs one shoulder, and looks up at Chris through a thick fan of black lashes. "So yes, a dragonfly."

Chris feels the warmth of the flush in his cheeks and his eyes feel hot. He reaches out and pulls Darren's hand to his face, placing a kiss into his palm. "You are a baby hippogriff, I think. Loud, meat-eating, awkward, and adequately fuzzy."

Darren lets out a loud bark of laughter, throws a fist into the air, and then snuggles close to Chris' side. "Hell fucking yes! I knew there was a reason I loved you."

\----

There are certain points on the human body that are naturally susceptible to being used against you, erogenous zones that can be easily exploited and used to turn a rational thinking grown man into a puddle of marshmallow. For Chris, that spot is his neck. Darren never fails to use his knowledge of this fact to his full advantage. He has a gorgeous, soft, full mouth that just seems to fit perfectly around the straining tendons in Chris' neck. Sucking, kissing, scraping with his teeth, the roughness of his beard turning the milky pale skin a bright raw-looking pink. Darren's mouth is sinful and skilled. He makes music with it every day, but none more stunning than the melodies they create together. Darren uses those soft lips and tongue to produce gasps and whimpers from Chris, that he joined with groans and throaty hums of his own to create a perfect harmony. 

Chris clutches at the pillow behind his head with one hand and holds onto Darren's shoulder with the other, head tilted away and his skin offered like a sacrifice. Darren has been devouring his neck, jaw and shoulder for what felt like lifetimes, and Chris was far from complaining. Eyes rolled back in his head and his own mouth hanging open and panting for air, he feels ravished, even though the only part of him Darren was touching, was his neck. They make out like freaking teenagers and love every moment of it. 

Darren finally pulls away, and once Chris blinks the stars out of his eyes, he sees that Darren looks every bit as wrecked as Chris feels. His eyes are wide and green-looking in the light of the single bedside lamp, his mouth is red and wet, hair a riot of bedhead black curls. Darren resembles what Ancient Italian painters must have seen in their dreams.

He grins down at Chris and thumbs a well worshipped spot along the base of his throat. “That is going to be a nice one. You’re going to need the rest of the week to have this baby fade.” The pride in his voice would be amusing if the tone weren’t so husky and arousal-thick. The sound of it is enough to wash away any thoughts of how Chris would deal with having a massive fading hickey on his neck that he will have to face later. Right now, he is beyond caring. That, and the fact that most of the blood from his body is currently residing in his lower regions. Yes, Darren’s mouth is that damn good.

He huffs and sits up on his shaky elbows. He refuses to let Darren gloat too much, even though it does feel like the circular bruise is going to be an impressive piece of work. “Stop flattering yourself. That was a love bite, a hickey requires much more suction.”

“Oh really?” Darren counters with a grin, his eyes sparkling from beneath his heavy brows. “And you think you could do so much better?”:

Chris doesn’t _think_ , he _knows_. Darren does too. That is why his grin grows even wider as he allows Chris to force him back on the bed. Chris has never been one to back down from a challenge, especially one issued by _this_ man. He hovers over Darren and drops a kiss onto the end of his nose. If the man wants a hickey, Chris is more than capable of showing him exactly how it’s done.

He has always loved the hair on Darren’s body, and pouted more than he would like to admit every time that filming had required him to wax himself bare. There was an aesthetic appeal to being hairless and smooth, but _this_ , dark tufts of hair across his chest and stomach makes him seem more like _his_ Darren, the part that did and always had, belonged to Chris, before and above anyone else. He rubs his nose through the coarse black curls that grow above Darren’s nipples and down the defined center of his chest, kissing and kitten-licking as he goes. Darren breathes out heavily through his nose, and Chris catches the way his fingers twitch at his sides when he kisses one dark brown, dime-sized nipple softly on his way down Darren’s body. It’s a slow path, Chris making sure to fully map out the ridges of Darren’s ribs and the dip of his navel as he goes. He seals his lips over the small indentation and teasingly swirls the tip of his tongue inside, like he kisses Darren’s mouth. The hips underneath him jolt up off the mattress and knock against Chris’ body. _Ha._

He selects his spot carefully. He knows that Darren feels a certain level of insecurity about the fact that he is never able to completely rid himself of the small rise of soft flesh at the bottom of his abdomen. Chris thinks his little belly is beautiful and sits perfectly on Darren’s body, only making him all the more real and touchable. Darren is in amazing shape, he’s strong and broad, and watching the compact muscles move under his tan skin, looks like poetry and makes Chris’ mouth go dry. He mouths along the soft skin below and to the right of Darren’s bellybutton, close to the jutting line of his hipbone. Darren’s stomach jumps under his lips at the first brush of a wet tongue. _Bingo._

He opens his mouth wide and sucks the skin hard, pulling and letting his teeth graze. Darren’s skin tastes salty. and smells like the soap he uses in his shower. He draws the flesh between his teeth and chews at it, causing Darren to buck and curse above him. He doesn’t relent, kissing, sucking, teething until Darren’s caramel colored skin is a dark violet-red, and Chris can see the individual indentations of his teeth left on Darren’s body. He kisses the spot sweetly, apologizing to the broken capillaries under Darren’s skin for his rough treatment of them, but really, Darren had kind of forced his hand. “Now _this_ is a hickey.” The area around the teeth marks is a wet pink and the bruise that is blossoming on Darren’s skin is sure to be deep and breathtaking. Chris mourns for a second over the fact that he won’t get to see it slowly fade away into nothing. He will just have to refresh the mark once he gets back from England. 

Darren’s eyes are lust-blown and when he shifts, Chris can feel the hard line of his erection against his side. He looks down at the spot with wide appraising eyes. “No, that is what it looks like when someone has been attacked by a rabid ferret. I mean _fuck_ , Chris.”

Chris’ grin is all mischief and wicked thoughts as he crawls up the bed to “attack” Darren’s lips. He takes both of Darren’s wrists and holds them down against the mattress. “That certainly can be arranged.”


	24. Belong - Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It's so pink and pretty!" That's it, that's the author's note.
> 
> Song used in this chapter "[You Belong To Me](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Ixfs-8kFBw)" by Michael Buble

It honestly seemed as though each meeting and conversation that he had with his management team and publicists grew more tedious and wore on his brittle nerves that much more. Darren knows his place, he knows how to play the game and how he would need to present himself, but the borderline scolding and lecturing that he is forced to endure, is just like someone rubbing table salt into an open cut. He was trying to make the best of his situation, but it was hard. He was as tightly bound as he had ever been, and although having Chris around him so much, eased the sting, he knew that the wounds this life of hiding had caused him, weren’t healed. How can they, when the scab is torn away with every blatant lie and disingenuous smile that he sells to the highest bidder?

“I got it. Yeah, I know what time to be there. I know the song, I’m good there. Send the suit over to the house if you want. Huh? No, no, I won’t be there today. I just have stuff to do. I’ll call you later, man. Yeah, fine. Bye.” He drops his head to the steering wheel and bangs it against it a few times for good measure. This wasn’t how we wanted this to go. He wanted to go and support amazing, inspirational people who were crazily and madly in love as himself, without participating in a circus act like he had been asked to. But there would be too many eyes on this particular event, and to be able to help out at all, certain concessions had to be made. The world had come so far in just the past quarter-decade that he had been on this earth, and Darren wanted more than almost anything to be a part of that forward movement and positive change. He tried, he did, and maybe someday he would be a full-on, proud agent of the solution, without being a part of the problem. He could only hope that when that day finally came, that people would forgive him for his little deceits and that the fallout wouldn’t overshadow any contributions he had managed to make. 

There were few things in life that he wanted more than that, and one was waiting at home for him right now. Darren pulls the hat back on over his head and climbs out of the car. Today is his date choice and no way in hell is he going to let Chris one-up him with a crappy movie night… even if the entire evening had been nothing short of fucking spectacular. He has already picked up a small bag of groceries and is now making his way to the toy section of a Target store not far from Chris’ house. This was a stroke of pure genius, if he does say so himself. He locates the item he had in mind, and pulls the box from the shelf with an excited grin. Making a quick detour through the pet section to pick up _“love me best”_ bribes for Brian and Cooper, Darren walks up to the express checkout line, and pulls his cell phone from his pocket.

He stows the phone away with a snicker and pays for his purchases.

\----

He manages to make it back to the house ahead of Chris. This house had begun to honestly feel as much like home to him as anywhere else that he knew. Chris’ smell and his small touches were everywhere that Darren looked. It sets his mind at ease the moment he walks through the door. What he will do or has done, doesn’t matter within these walls. He can just be Darren, and be stupidly, ass over head in love, nothing more, nothing less, and that is perfectly okay. It’s a sanctuary, even without Chris physically here, and Darren feels himself breathe deeper, more sustaining breaths.

He unpacks the groceries in the kitchen, and hurries out into the backyard to begin setting up his surprise under the bright southern California sun. Darren hadn’t done this since he was a kid. He isn’t even sure what made him think of it, he simply remembers laying back in his bed that morning after Chris had left, and trying to think of something he could do to make him smile. There was nothing he loved more than the man’s unrestrained, toothy, crinkle-eyed smiles. Each was was a rare and precious work of art and came with a story all it’s own, and Darren felt like dedicating a room in his house to proudly displaying each one that he had collected. He was a true connoisseur of making Chris laugh and grin like a fool, and he felt absolutely no shame in that fact. He was quite pleased with himself for thinking this one up. He unrolls the long sheet of bright yellow plastic, affixes it into the ground with little white plastic spikes, and looks around Chris’ garage for a garden hose, when he hears the car pull up.

Darren walks around the house and meets Chris at the front door with a green water hose coiled around his shoulder. The perplexed look on Chris’ face is almost incentive enough for hatching up this plan.

“Hi…” Chris starts slowly, eyeing the hose and Darren’s all too innocent smile. He allows Darren to lean in and steal a sweet peck hello from his twitching lips as he fights against a smirk. “If your idea of a date is washing your car, I’m going to have to claim I have other plans.”

Darren follows him inside taking the hose along with them. “What? The joy of my delightful company not enough for you?” He watches Chris sit down and pull off his shoes and settle back into the couch with a tired sigh. He was working hard this week, trying to rush through everything that he had to get done for the book launch in half the time that he had originally intended, so that he would be done in time to fly to meet with the producers of his movie on Saturday. All that on top of spending his evenings, and most nights, with Darren engaged in _other activities_. Chris was always busy, but Darren could see that he was burning the candle at both ends right now. All the more reason for him to make sure that their time together was spent making Chris as happy and relaxed as possible. Darren mentally kicked his own ass before making a solemn vow to himself. _No sex tonight. Chris is exhausted, just be with him. Make him happy._

Darren bends over the back of the couch and kisses the side of Chris’ neck. “No car washing, but water is involved, hence the hose. Come check this out.” 

Chris pulls himself to his feet and follows Darren across the room to look out the door and into his own backyard. He blinks several times. “What… Dare, what is that?”

“It’s a twenty foot long banana peel. What the fuck does it look like?” 

The slip and slide was eighteen feet long, and stood out like a bright yellow splash of paint across the green grass. He opens the back door and pulls Chris out after him by the hand. “Awesome, right?” 

Chris stops just beyond the door and looks at Darren with a half amused and half wary expression. “That isn’t the exact word I’d use.” He eyes the slip and slide like it was a strange and potentially dangerous animal that had suddenly appeared in his secluded backyard. 

Darren busies himself with hooking up and unrolling the hose to start getting the slide wet. He hadn’t done this since he was, at the most, ten years old, but he was pretty sure that the mechanics were the same. You run, you flop, and you slide. Easy enough. Pulling his shirt off over his head and tossing it onto the grass, he looks back over at Chris who was standing frozen where he had stopped. 

“You don’t actually expect me to do this do you?”

Darren rolls his eyes and lowers his hands to begin unbuttoning his pants. “I most certainly do. This is my night, my date. You are sort of obligated.” He finishes pulling off his jeans, leaving himself in only a pair of short-cut dark red boxer briefs and a smile. He can see the flare of Chris’ nostrils from all the way across the yard. 

“Let me get this straight.” Chris walks over to him with a quirked eyebrow and a spasm in his right cheek that meant that he was either suppressing a smile or a grimace. “You want us to slide around on this thing, in our underwear, wet, in broad daylight?” Chris’ voice said very clearly that he was of the impression that Darren had lost his mind.

“Well, we _could_ do it naked, but that seems a little dangerous, if you ask me.” He reaches down and gathers up his clothing into his arms. “No one can see anything back here, Babe. It’s just you and me. I figured we’d do something fun. Different. We can cool off, slide around, grill some burgers, have a beer or two, and hang out.” He shrugs and walks over to place his clothes on the patio table.

Chris stood looking down at the slip and slide skeptically. “There are much easier ways to get me out of my clothes, you know.” His eyes are a deep turquoise blue when he looks up at Darren with a mischievous smirk. The way he walks toward him reminds the older man of a large cat, focused, silent, and predatory. He loops both his arms around Darren’s shoulders and lets his fingertips play with the soft hair at the back of Darren’s neck, Chris’ clothed, firm body pressed against Darren’s exposed bare skin. “This is a lot of work to go through when we could just go back inside.” His voice is low and he makes Darren nearly rethink his previous decision.

“This isn’t foreplay, this is fun.”

“Foreplay isn’t fun?” 

_Fuck._ Darren’s resolve nearly melts away completely when Chris flicks the tip of his tongue across Darren’s naked collarbone with a quiet hum that he can feel sink in under his skin. “Allow me to rephrase.” He swallows hard, only to have Chris’ gorgeous mouth travel slowly up over his throat. “This isn’t for sex, it’s for the silly.”

“The silly, huh?” Chris leans away to look at Darren with a face that showed the full extent of his skepticism at the entire idea. 

Darren nods his head emphatically as though the physical motion will help to cement the idea in his mind. “Yes. Unless,” he pulls out of Chris’ arms with a teasing little smile of his own, before he can notice the way he had started to go hard in his underwear. _No no, none of that now._ “Unless you’re scared of a little slip and slide, Colfer.”

Chris quirks a disbelieving eyebrow at him. “Seriously? You’re going with ‘unless you’re chicken’, Darren?” He groans out loud when Darren’s only response is a sarcastic shrug. “You are impossible.” The grumble is mostly lost as he pulls his own shirt off over his head. 

It turns out that slip and sliding wasn’t as much fun for him as Darren remembered. The first running belly flop down onto the wet plastic nearly knocks the wind of him, and Darren is sure that he will have dark bruises on the front side of his body that will look like they had been caused by something harder and more deadly than grass and earth.

Chris however _loves_ it. The sound of his carefree laugh carries across the backyard into Darren’s ears like the most lovely and complex piece of music that he’d ever heard. He runs and slides on his stomach across the length of the slide over and over, while the dog chases alongside him barking and wondering what the wacky humans were up to now. That, coupled with the way that Chris looks in nothing but his pair of simple black briefs, now wet and molded to the mouthwatering twin curves of his ass, makes the investment well worth it to Darren. He sits on the grass a short distance away, hugging his arms around his knees, and watches as Chris’ wet body zooms along the sheet of plastic and shimmers under the warm golden light of the late afternoon sun.

When Chris stands and shakes droplets of water from his bangs that hang over his forehead, Darren’s mouth goes Sahara desert dry. He catches a glimpse of tender rosy pink peeking out from the elastic leg band of Chris’ underwear, the head of his soft cock having slid free in the process of his latest slide. Darren takes a deep breath, and has to will himself once again to remember _why_ he had promised himself that tonight wouldn’t end up being about sex. Darren is still a hot-blooded man, however, and he isn’t able to restrain himself from pushing himself up off the ground, and walking over to Chris. He presses his lips to Chris’ bare white shoulder, and reaches down to drag the pad of his thumb across the hyper-sensitive tip of Chris’ dick. The wet-sounding gasp and shudder that goes through the body standing in front of him causes Darren’s grin to spread wide across the soft skin of Chris’ shoulder. He gently traces the petal pink crown with his thumb and just grazes his teeth against his shoulder, no biting, just scraping his teeth over the soft skin and drawing as much sound out of the other man as he can. He pushes the flesh back under the elastic band, tucking Chris safely back up into the fabric. “Have fun. I’ll go start up the grill.” The pink-cheeked, flushed look on Chris’ face is enough to make him giggle shamelessly. 

This was _exactly_ what Darren had wanted, neither of them thinking for one fraction of a second about work, or meetings, or trips, or who has to bring whom to a wedding. For an hour they just _exist_ , young and together and in love. 

The hamburgers end up getting slightly burned on the grill. He had never claimed to be the best cook in the world, and Chris is too busy laughing like a child as Cooper tries to bite the stream of water Chris sprays on him from the hose. But neither of them care. 

They lie together in the grass, their jeans pulled back on and unbuttoned over damp underwear, beers half-drunk and gone flat. Darren idly strums his guitar and Chris watches as the few stars visible in the Los Angeles sky, twinkle into existence. 

Chris turns to the side and lays his head on the bony ridge of Darren’s ankle. “Five years, where are we?” His voice has a low dreamy quality that Darren usually only hears in bed. It makes him appreciate his decision to leave this night as something more gentle and mellow between them.

“Right here is good.” Darren jumps, his leg spasms under Chris’ head, when the hair on the bottom of his leg is yanked hard. “ _Ow_?”

“No cheating. Real answer.”

Darren sighs and folds his arms on top of the guitar and looks down at him with a self-disparaging smile. “I really don’t know. I mean there are things I hope for, sure. But at the end of the day, I’m just some oddball musician guy from the Bay who ended up getting some lucky breaks in life. Who knows where I’ll end up. I’m not like you, you’re going to change the fucking world, Chris. Hell, you already have.” The way Darren says it is in the same way that he would say that the ocean is salty, or that sex is fun, or that pizza is good. It’s not a belief, it’s a pure statement of fact. 

“You changed mine.”

Chris’ eyes are a dark midnight blue in the twilight and reflection of the lights lit inside the house spilling out over the lawn. He’s so beautifully real in that moment, with his hair dried into a mess, and grass stains on his jeans, that Darren wishes he could be in this very spot for the next five years, and maybe the next hundred after. 

His fingers start strumming quiet chords that he repeats over four times before beginning to softly sing.

[[Click [PLAY](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Ixfs-8kFBw)]]

_See the pyramids along the Nile_  
 _Watch the sunrise from a tropic isle_  
 _Just remember darling all the while_  
 _You belong to me_

_See the marketplace in old Algier_  
 _Send me photographs and souvenirs_  
 _Just remember when a dream appears_  
 _You belong to me_

Chris smiles against the top of his foot, and turns and kisses the protruding bone in his ankle.

_Fly the ocean in a silver plane_  
 _See the jungle when it's wet with rain_  
 _Just remember till you're home again_  
 _You belong to me_

Darren finishes the song, and makes another silent promise to himself. In five years he _will_ be here, no matter what it took. He’d find a way.


	25. Moments - Chris and Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So _this_ time the huge beta debate consisted of a 20 minute long search for the proper adjective to describe the rolling of Darren's hips. Yep.
> 
> Z choked on air, Lynne hurt herself, I nearly wet my pants. Good times.

It's funny. People use the phrase "madly in love" often enough, but he is certain that most don't stop to think much about what the term means. Not even he, who considers himself to be a big fan of language and phraseology. But _shit_ , is it true. Love can make you more than a little crazy. You can find yourself in situations and places that the normal, solitary you, could never even dream of. There are instances of this that are both good and bad, but they are, none the less.

Darren seems willing enough to go along with whatever Chris has planned when he tells him in the early evening that their "date" won't start for a while yet. He shrugs, perfectly willing to go along with most anything Chris suggests, he'd likely be game even if the plans Chris had, were centered around cleaning out the garage. They have both already worked a full day. The pizza Chris brings over with him, Discovery channel on the couch, and falling asleep by ten in one another's arms, is it's own kind of understated perfection.

When the alarm in his phone begins to beep at a quarter past four in the morning, Chris has a bleary moment of self-doubt. Why on earth would anyone want to leave the soft, warm haven of Darren's bed and arms at this kind of ungodly hour? It takes Chris longer than he cares to admit, blinking up into the dark at the bedroom ceiling to remember his purpose.

He has somewhere that he wants to take Darren that he had never shared with anyone else before. It was a place he had gone while in his sporadic fits of insomnia, and taken his laptop, writing until the battery was all the way drained and entered shutdown mode. It was secluded, private, stunningly beautiful. Most people probably appreciated the spot more for its beauty during the day, but Chris wasn't most people. He liked the view best in the still, dark blue quiet hours before the sunrise.

Trying to convince Darren to unwind his arm from around Chris' waist, that there was any reason beyond a death or natural disaster worth leaving his bed for, at such an insane time, isn't easy, but Chris eventually manages. He misses most of what the other man was grumbling under his breath as he pulls back on the previous day's clothes in the dark, but he is able to pick out "...be glad you're so goddamn cute."

He keeps the windows low as they drive down all but deserted city streets towards the highway. The wind rushing against their faces does a lot to wake them both up. Chris knows it would have been far too easy for them both to stay safely tucked away inside the walls of Darren's home, but that isn't what he wanted at the moment. Maybe what they were together wasn't something that could often be shown in the light of day, and before too many pairs of watchful eyes, but there was nothing stopping them from letting it out to play under a cloak of darkness, while the rest of the world slept. _This_ they could have.

When Chris thought of sharing something with Darren for the first time, this wasn't what he had in mind, but he isn't going to question it too much when he slides his hands inside the other man's open jeans, palming smooth, warm stretches of skin under his hands. The drive to the dunes overlooking Lechuza Beach takes almost an hour, and with another hour left until the sun rises, Darren proposes the bright idea to cuddle up in Chris' roomy backseat. It doesn't take long for them both to be breathing heavily and hard in their jeans as Chris mouths along the scratchy underside of Darren's jaw.

"Can't believe I'm doing this in a car like a fucking t-teenager." Darren's voice stutters over the word when Chris slides both his strong hands down his back and into his underwear, just feeling the curves of him as they rock themselves together. Chris shifts his body weight to better feel the hard line of Darren's erection rubbing against and just below his own.

He bites his lip to stifle the gasp at how amazing it feels. "Technically, I never got to do this as a teenager." Chris admits.

Even through the thin material of their underwear, Chris can feel the slide and drag of the prominent head of Darren's cock catch against the soft underside of his, and it makes his eyes roll into the back of his head.

"Never?" Darren's mouth trails from the corner of Chris', dragging the plush, wet inside of his swollen bottom lip across Chris' cheek to his ear. Chris can feel Darren's teeth brush against the skin of his face and it makes him shudder violently. "Never fucked like bunnies in the backseat of a car, hmm? Wanna remedy that?" His voice is close and quiet in Chris' ear while his hands clutch the sides of Chris' chest underneath his shirt. Darren kisses the lobe of his ear, letting his lips open and close around it as he speaks. "I still have the little squeezy packets in my wallet."

Chris is well acquainted with the small foil packets of lube that Darren had introduced him to long ago. They had come to their aid many a time on set, or in a dozen other situations where they had carelessly become so carried away that the burning need for each other drove out all better sense. All of it resulting in quick, messy, trailer handjobs, or Darren biting into Chris' neck while fingers teased and then stretched him open the way that he loved. Somehow though, Chris didn't think that was precisely what Darren had in mind right now.

Was this a bad idea? Probably. Insane? Yeah, pretty much. But love makes you fucking crazy. And with Darren naked and kneeling over Chris' mostly clothed body in the backseat of his car, in the empty parking lot of a private Malibu beach, rationality just doesn't come into play. He allows himself to just _want_ and _need_ this man.

Darren's knees are spread wide across the bench seat as he lowers himself down onto Chris' straining cock. The angle is terrible, and the way that he is slouched down in the seat is going to kill his back, but he is so far from caring about that, as he feels the burning _inside_ of Darren's body slowly swallow him up. Clothes, shoes, and ripped-open lube and condom wrappers are strewn all over the floorboard, and Chris has to remind himself to keep half an eye out for any approaching lights outside the car. It's hard to look away from the gorgeous fluttering of Darren's eyelashes and the scrunched look of concentration on his face. The thrill of _shouldn't, wrong, dangerous_ like this, wasn't one that he would have ever expected himself to be into, but he can't deny the small tingle of danger that he feels lacing his blood.

Darren's body is tensed like a bow string, huffing out sharp, hot breaths as he lets the weight of his body ease him down onto the full length of Chris' dick. There's not enough lube, not nearly, but Chris' sure, familiar fingers had stretched him open until he'd been a whimpering mess against his lover's chest. He lets his head fall forward onto Chris' shoulder when he is fully impaled as far as the position will allow on the hard cock beneath him.

"Shit, Babe. Wait." Darren’s voice is small and shaky as he breaths through the apparent burn of having Chris buried inside his ass.

The noise Chris makes is not coherent, it's barely even human. Darren is so mind-numbingly tight and perfect around him. He has to clench his fists against the seat and bite down on his own lip hard enough to draw blood to let Darren's body adjust, having to restrain himself from just grabbing his slim waist and thrusting up into him. _Don't move. Don't breathe. Don't think. Don't don't don't! Fuck, he is so damn beautiful._

Chris can feel every muscle in his body trembling, sweat beading across his forehead with the exertion of just doing absolutely nothing when a minute, two, three passes, and finally, oh sweet merciful Lord, _finally_ , Darren’s breathing equals out, and his hips rock back a fraction of an inch.

It’s slow-going at first, Darren using the strong, dance-toned muscles of his legs to lift himself up off of Chris’ lap a few inches and sinking back down with a quiet grunting exhale. Those little noises are the hottest damn thing Chris has ever heard, and he kind of wants to ask Darren to freeze for a second so he can grab his phone from the pocket of his jeans that are bunched up around his knees, so that he can record them, and save the sound forever. Except he really doesn’t. He begins to move faster, lifting up and down, measured rolls of his hips that would drive any man literally insane. Chris slips one hand around to the small of Darren’s back, his palm slipping over the already sweaty skin, the other gripping onto the curve of his waist. Letting Darren completely control the pace of his rising and falling was as blissful as it was maddening to him. The more he fights to stay still and let Darren decide how fast or slow he wants to move, which he does so amazingly well, the more hyper-aware that he is of every minute clench in the muscles of Darren’s slick, inner walls around him, the heat, the sounds, each sweaty black spiral of hair that bounces around his head with the movement of his hips.

“You’re, aahh! You’re doing that on...on purpose.” The words are gritted out through his teeth when he feels the rhythmic squeezing of Darren’s ass around his cock grow impossibly tighter as he pushes the tight ring of his muscles up and down the shaft.

“You bet… your ass… I am. Wait, no… my ass.”

Chris lets his head fall back on the seat with a groan. The man was literally trying to kill him. Chris’ mind was filled with nothing but Darren, the entire world could have been poised outside the car with cameras rolling, and he wouldn’t have given a damn. Not right then in any case. He feels one of Darren’s hands lift from his shoulder, and opens his eyes to watch his lover moving above him again. Darren has one hand braced against the headliner of the car, scraping his nails against it and into the upholstery in a way that Chris was likely to have a hard time explaining to whoever he’d have to get to repair it. Another thing he’d worry about later.

Darren’s purple red-tipped erection bobbed jerkily between their bodies, smearing precome across Chris’ stomach. Space was limited and Darren wasn’t able to hang on and brace himself at the same time, so Chris lifted his own hand from Darren’s hip and wrapped it around his cock. The slide is too dry and rough against the sensitive skin, and Darren’s grunt of displeasure causes Chris to bring his hand up to his mouth and lick three wide stripes across his palm. When he takes Darren back into his fist, the slide is smoother and Darren moans and drops his head back.

“Better?” He knows it’s better, he’s just being a bit of a jerk because it’s all so damn _good_.

Darren laughs breathlessly and swivels his hips in a sharp arc causing Chris to cry out and his fingernails to dig into the soft pocket of skin just above the upper swell of Darren’s ass. He sees black and silver flashes start to overtake his vision. He struggles to hold on, lifting one of his feet from the floorboard of the car and curling his toes into a tight clench against the ball of his foot.

“Close.” He warns Darren, pulling double time on the throbbing dick in his hand, while he writhes underneath him. He can’t stop it. “Oh, fuck. _Too close_ , Dare. God.” He feels like he should add an ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’ but it’s too late to do anything but let himself force his hips up deeply into Darren’s tight little body a half dozen times, in staccato fashion, before he is coming hard into the condom.

Darren holds onto the back of his neck with one hand, and brings the other down to where Chris’ had stilled around his dick. He starts pulling at himself frantically, panting out harsh breathy whines that help to spur Chris’ fingers into action with his. Together they find a rhythm that makes Darren gasp and work his hips back and forth on the softening cock inside of him. He looks to Chris like some kind of creature of ancient myth, with his wild hair and red lips and dark eyes as he cries out, and soaks their fingers with spurt after spurt of his warm release.

Darren’s body sags heavily in Chris’ arms, he is shaking and Chris knows he has got to be fucking exhausted after the way he worked himself on top of him. Darren’s legs were going to fucking kill him later, and Chris would just have to massage circles into his strained calves with his thumbs and kiss the quivering muscles in his thighs. Happily.

Darren forces himself to sit up so that Chris slips free of his body, and he has to reach down and hold onto the condom so that they don’t make an even bigger mess in the back of his car. It’s already going to smell in a way that he doubts he can easily cover up with a tree-shaped cardboard air freshener. Darren doesn’t seem to have these same concerns as he plants his bare, sweat and lube covered ass onto the seat next to him. He is _not_ dropping this car off himself to have it cleaned, that is for damn sure. Maybe having to go out of the country next week is well-timed, after all. Darren nuzzles his face into Chris’ bicep and then physically lifts up his arm and puts it around him, cuddling into his side like a puppy. Chris laughs quietly and kisses the side of his face.

“Cliched teenage rite of passage achieved.” Darren’s voice is muffled against the side his neck.

“Thank you for your assistance.”

“Any time, Colfer. Any time..”

Darren yawns loudly close to Chris’ ear. _Shit, what time is it?_ He glances between the seats and sees that it is a little after six, they will just have enough time to clean themselves up and make it down to the empty beach to watch the sunrise. He turns his head to the side and angles his chin down so that he can peck a couple of soft kisses against Darren’s pouty, sleepy mouth. “Can I show you something?”

Darren puckers his lips for another kiss without opening his eyes. “Does it require moving?”

He smirks. “A little bit.”

“Then fuck no.”

Chris shoves him away and reaches for Darren’s discarded jeans and boxers. “Come on, lazy. Just for a minute.”

Darren falls down face forward in the seat as soon as the support of Chris’ body moves away, clearly unconcerned about the fact that he is now laying in the damp spot where they had just had sex. Wouldn’t be the first, or last time.

Chris laughs and tucks himself back into his pants before swatting Darren on the ass.

“ _Ow?_ Always with the hurting me!” He complains down into the car seat. He finally lifts his head and grins up to see Chris doing up the buttons on his shirt that he had never gotten around to fully taking off. Chris gives him a look that says that he won’t be put off on this one. “Fine.” Darren sighs and pulls himself to sit up, accepting his jeans from Chris’ hand. “But after this, you owe me donuts. And bacon.” He pulls his boxers up his legs, raising up to slip them the rest of the way on over his ass. “And-”

“Get dressed and hurry up.”

\----

Putting his jeans back on and zipping them up is as dressed as Darren is going to get at 6:30 in the morning, after mind blowing sex, at the freaking beach. They both leave their shoes in Chris’ car, and walk barefoot through the sand. It will turn blistering hot under the sun in a few hours, but for now it’s silky cool and smooth between his toes. The breeze coming off the water is salt scented and feels amazing against his overheated skin. As do Chris’ fingers clasped tightly through his. They walk a few hundred yards down the beach, staying well out of the tideline and watch the gulls circle overhead.

Darren wonders what they’d do if some nosy asshole with a camera spotted them now. Would they be recognized? Or could they ever really just be two guys, one without a shirt, walking together on a beach, to watch the sun come up over Los Angeles? The sky has turned from black, to blue, to light gray, with the first hints of pink starting to stain over the western horizon.

Chris pulls his hand from his, and starts climbing up a tall, sand dune further up the shore. It takes Darren more effort to pull his tired ass up after him, slipping in the powdery sand and nearly falling backwards a few times, before he finally falls down to sit next to Chris. His eyes are the same sea water blues, grays, and greens that the waves will be once the sun is fully risen and hits them just perfectly. Only they won’t be quite as gorgeous.

“I used to come here when I couldn’t sleep. People only like the beach when it’s sunny, but it’s pretty incredible when it’s dark out, too. I’ve even come when it’s been raining. I fried a cell phone that way.”

Darren’s forehead crumples at that. Chris has had chronic sleep issues for years, not able to wind down enough to relax and fall asleep for days at a time, before finally crashing and passing out. He’d then have to get up and force himself to the set to work in a zombie-like state anyway. Darren hated it. He hadn’t heard Chris mention the insomnia at all lately, he assumed it wasn’t happening any more. “That still going on? You haven’t said anything.” All the stress Chris was about to be under with the book and filming the new movie, not to mention all of the constant what the fuck drama going on behind the scenes with the show. What if he stopped sleeping again? Darren knew better than anyone how strong he was, but even the strongest of things can be worn down to nothing over time.

Chris shrugs his shoulders without turning his eyes away from where the sun was starting to peek out over the mountains, flashing the lightening sky with pinks, reds, and golds. “It hasn’t, not for a while anyway. It was getting kind of bad about a month ago, but it passed.”

_Oh._

Chris hadn’t been sleeping well until Darren had come banging on his door and forced himself back into his day to day life. Didn’t that prove as much as anything that things were just _better_ when _they_ were better? Everything in him, everything that he was, Darren wanted to use to make this guy sitting next to him, happy and healthy and whole. He would do anything to have that happen. He would give him all of his days if he could, but if he can only offer a few, he will try to give up as much of himself in those limited days, as humanly possible.

“Promise me that you’re going to sleep and take care of yourself over there when I’m not around to annoy the shit out of you.”

Chris snorts and buries his feet down into the sand. He kicks up a little sand onto Darren’s stretched out legs. “Yeah, yeah. What about you? You drink like a fish and eat like a toddler when I’m not around.”

Okay, he resembles that remark. He sticks his foot down in the sand next to Chris’, letting their toes curl around each other and slide together, it’s the only parts of their bodies that touch.

“I don’t mean just this next little mini trip. I mean in general. If I’m not there for whatever reason, you have got to not work yourself to death. I expect you whole and in one piece when you come home to me, okay?”

“I make no promises. My vast assortment of neuroses knows no bounds.” Chris states and leans back on his hands behind him. They sit in silence and watch the sun rise up over another busy day in the city of angels, that they both know they will sleep away, behind the black-out curtains of Darren’s bedroom. Chris’ voice is quiet and thoughtful when he speaks again, looking not at Darren, but out at the point where the waves peak and begin to break.

“I think I’d give up everything just to stay right here in this spot and this moment forever.”

Darren can relate. But to him it doesn’t have to be _this_ spot or exact point in time. Any time, anywhere with Chris, is where he wants to be. And why should they limit themselves to one single moment? They have a lifetime, don’t they?

"You don't have to give anything up for that. Go ahead and keep this one, and we'll make a few thousand more like it."

Chris looks over at him for an immeasurable moment, his eyes bright and full of something that Darren can’t immediately identify. He leans forward, touching his forehead to the side of Darren’s face. It will take time for both of them to understand and accept the new parameters of what they are, to really comprehend that even though they still have to hide some things, there is no more lying or hiding from each other.

And when Chris quietly whispers just his name against his temple, he hears it for exactly what it is.

“I know. I love you, too.”

They will figure it all out. They have all the time in the world.


	26. Goodnight - Chris and Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "When you put your thing on my thing, it turns purple!" "...are we still talking about betaing the chapter?"

One thing Chris has never been able to acquaint himself with, regarding his career, is the constant state of being in flux. Waking up to a call announcing yet another major scheduling plan that will affect him for the months to come, is not a welcome event when his brain is still mostly asleep. Whatever mumbled response he gives into the phone is forgotten in the span of time it takes him to drop his phone down onto the mattress, and sink his head back into the pillow. Who cares if it’s two in the afternoon? Interrupting a man’s much needed rest like that is just rude.

Once the spell of sleep is broken like that, it is hard to sink back into the abyss. As much as he tries to let himself drift back into unconsciousness, his ears can’t help but register the lack of quiet nasally snores that are naturally supposed to be an accompaniment to this bed. A frown slips onto his face, and without opening his eyes, his hands start to pat across the mattress beside him, needing physical verification of the lack of another warm body in the bed. Further and further he searches until his fingertips find the far edge of the mattress. He sighs and blinks his eyes open to the bright sun, streaming in through the window. 

They’d sat out on the beach until the sun had fully risen over the city and cast dancing white flashes onto the waves. The sight of something so simple, light across water, made Chris’ fingers twitch at his sides for his computer, that impulsive need to capture and create something vibrant and beautiful out of nothing. He wondered if that was the same way Darren felt when there was a lack of anything musical around him. He’d asked and been told that when Darren got an idea for a melody or line that he couldn’t jot down, he would simply hum it back to himself or tap the beat out onto something with his fingers. Clearly, Chris needed a more efficient mental filing system. It had been nearly nine before they had blearily stripped themselves down, wiped off the worst of the clinging sand from their arms and feet, and crawled into Darren’s bed to sleep like the dead for a few hours.

Chris himself still felt somewhat unliving, so where in the hell was _he_? He stumbles over a lone shoe orphaned in the doorway, making his way out into the hall. He doesn’t bother to cover himself in anything other than the underwear he’d gone back to sleep in. Though now that he thinks about it, Chris is sure he’s about twelve hours past due for a shower. Shower later, missing persons first. Darren’s house is all light-colored wood, eclectic kitsch, and sunlight, mementos, contrasting colors, and instruments haphazardly strewn about so that it’s just this side of cluttered. It’s fitting, it suits him. Chris slowly wanders from room to room of the small, open home, looking for the primary occupant. No Darren. 

The deep crease that signals concentration or concern deepens between his eyebrows before he finally hears a muffled, low voice coming from outside. Darren is alternately speaking and pausing in the stilted way that people only do when they are on the tail end of a phone call that they wish would end. Chris has his hand on the handle of the sliding glass door before he hesitates. If Darren is talking to certain people, they probably shouldn’t know that he was there. He lingers over the thought for a moment. In a couple of days, he would be on a plane back to England, then comes the book tour, and the press. This was the only time he would have for himself, his only time to breathe, possibly for a month. Why was he still hesitating and letting other people take even a second of that away from him? He takes a deep breath and pulls back the door.

Darren is standing with his back to him, bent forward, the hand that isn’t holding the phone kneading at the muscle of his lower leg. Yep, Chris had known he’d be sore. When he hears the door open behind him, he turns and flashes Chris a small smile, holding up one finger in the universal sign for _“Just a second, I’m trying to wrap this up. So don’t move your mostly naked ass away from that spot, mister!”_

“Yeah… Hey, I’ve gotta… Yeah, it’s cool... I’ll have to call you ba- What? No. Hey… Listen, I’m gonna… Oh! Oh my God! A blimp just crash-landed in my backyard, fucking Hindenburg! I’ve got to go. Bye!”

Chris snorts and watches Darren grin like an idiot down at his phone for a second, shaking his head. His hair is a curly frizzed out mess, he’d barely gotten more dressed then Chris had, wearing only a worn pair of gray colored sweatpants with ragged worn out hems pooling around his feet. There are slight shadows underneath his eyes, a telling round bruise on the side of his neck, and his beard is way overdue for a trim, but when he’s like this, he is more the man that Chris loves than he would ever be all put together, and it makes him smile.

“And that was?”

“My fuckhead brother.” Darren plops down with a happy sigh into the patio chair beside Chris, and sets the phone down on his bare stomach. “He wants me to come out there and see him for a few days. I think my mom is putting him up to shit.” He drops his head back and lets the sun soak into his skin. 

“You should. You’re pretty much free for the next week after the wedding, right? Why not go hang out in New York?” Waiting around, missing each other, and over thinking was the last thing he wanted either of them to do. They were both used to being in constant motion, and for that to suddenly stop, and find themselves alone… No, no good could come of that. “You should definitely go.”

Darren turns his head to the side to study Chris’ face through slitted eyes. “You trying to rush me out of town?”

“No, I’m trying to tell you that this is your chance to have time for yourself and figure out exactly what you want without the entire world on your back. You should take it, and enjoy yourself.” _I don’t want you to miss this, half as much as I’m going to. I want you busy and not dwelling on the things we can't change, dummy. Please?_

“Chris, if I enjoyed myself much more, I don’t think I’d be able to move.”

Chris reaches over and tries to smack him in the back of the head, but the other man is too quick for him and dodges the attack. “Be serious for one minute. It won’t hurt too much, I promise. So, go. Go see Chuck and your friends and have a good time while you still can.”

Darren crosses his arms over his chest and lifts a challenging eyebrow at him. “You’re only going for a couple of days. I’m a big boy and I’m sure that I can keep myself entertained for that long. It’s what, five or six days?”

Chris sighs and runs a hand through his bedhead disaster that he calls hair. "And as soon as I get back I have to launch right into prep for the press stuff and the tour. I don't want you to sit around and do nothing, especially because we may not even be able to see each other at all. Really, you should go and have fun. Eat proper New York pizza, go see a show, check out what the Kids are doing in Chicago." 

The pout on Darren's face would have made Chris snort in laughter if the heartbreak in his eyes wasn't so damn sincere. _Bastard._ "We're really not going to get much of a break in this, are we?"

"Probably not." Chris takes a hold of his chair with both hands and turns the entire thing to face Darren's with a loud, jarring screech across the concrete. "Whatever it is that we're doing, the world isn't going to stop for it. That was never an option. But the world can't stop it either. If it could, do you really think we'd be sitting here right now? That I would be burning my ass by sitting in a metal lawn chair in my underwear?" He reaches out and places his hand on Darren's arm, still crossed over his chest, needing some bodily contact to be a reassurance to them both. "We knew we would have to rejoin the land of the living sometime."

Under the touch of Chris' hand, the tension in Darren's body seems to bleed out of him and back into the chaotic world it came from. He relaxes his defensively folded arms, twisting his full, red mouth into a smirk. "No, I get it. I won't cramp your style while you're off conquering the literary world. But for the next two days?" 

"My schedule is wide open." He leans forwards out of the chair and brushes his lips across Darren's with a quiet appreciative humming sound, the scratch of the beard tickling his face. "I'm going to shave you in your sleep one of these days." The low whisper brushed over Darren's mouth isn't intended to come out as seductively as it does, but Chris sees it in the widening of Darren's eyes.

He flicks his tongue across his lower lip with a teasing smile. "Guess it's good that you can be trusted with sharp objects then."

"Uh huh. All the sharp and pointy objects." He tangles his hand into the thick coarse hair that completely covers the lower half of Darren's face. He's nearly forgotten what the man's chin even looks like, but Chris knows that he'll miss it once the heavy beard is gone. Chris is a little sweet on his lumberjack. He scratches along the line of his jaw, teasing the tender skin beneath with his fingernails. It causes Darren's long eyelashes to flutter rapidly and close, he purrs like a kitten whenever the nails come out to play. "So, wanna tell me what we're doing today?"

Chris isn't prepared for the strong arm that reaches around behind him and it nearly topples Chris' body onto Darren's lap in the small chair clearly made for one. He ends up awkwardly seated sideways, with his long legs hanging off the side. Bright hazel eyes laugh at him as Darren pulls one of Chris' hands back up to his face. He drops a wet kiss to the back of Chris' knuckles, before pressing his fingers against his chin. "Talk later, more scratching first, Colfer. I like the scratching business."

Oh, he is aware.

\----

Darren isn't an idiot, he actually has a really good memory most of the time. Just not for dates, or birthdays, or song lyrics. And clearly not for recipes. He has made this particular sun-dried tomato and cheese sauce at least thirty times, and managed to recall how to make it well enough to be able to go shopping for the ingredients the day before, but for some reason, the steps keep getting muddled in his mind. 

Maybe it had something to do with the sweltering heat of standing over a hot stove in the July late afternoon sun. Or possibly the bottle of red wine that already sat empty on the counter with a half drained twin bottle beside it. Could have been the way they kept butchering old Italian standards, Beatles, and Jerry Lee songs that played loudly throughout his rarely used kitchen. But, if he was honest, it was mostly just the man sitting cross-legged on the countertop next to the stove, laughing when Darren lets the pasta water boil over, and eating bits of cheese that he pinches off with his fingers.

Chris' eyes are shining bright and his face is flushed the most gorgeous pink from the warmth of the room and the wine. He's wearing one of Darren's old college t-shirts that stretches across his chest and arms in a way that should not be legal, and smells like the soap from his bathroom. It was the first time Darren had ever taken a bath with someone else, an excuse to use the tub which was yet another much-neglected feature in his home. He’d never sat cradled in another person’s arms in a bathtub, having the back of his neck worshipped by the softest lips known to humankind. And while he had expected more sexy times than splash wars, between the sound of his laugh, Chris working shampoo into his beard, the heavenly way that Chris dug his thumbs into the muscles of his back, and the almost too hot to bear temperature of the water they sat in, he wasn't about to complain.

He glances up from where he had been chopping basil into thin ribbons, to find Chris' eyes intensely studying him over the rim of his wine glass. His tongue pokes at the the inside of his cheek, an innocent enough quirk that Darren had come to know that meant Chris was thinking, or his mind was distracted. It leaves Darren distracted himself, the sight never fails to make his mind... _go places_. 

"What?"

Chris smirks and looks down at the absolute horror story Darren has managed to make of this kitchen. "It's not too late to admit defeat with grace, and order out. You know that you don't have to impress me." 

Darren points at Chris' handsome, smug looking face with his chef's knife. "Fuck you. I know what I'm doing." And he does. He's almost pretty sure that he does. He lived in Italy for Christ sakes! He did more there than drink, play his guitar, wander around, and obsess over a pretty dark haired local girl who lived down the street. At least, he thinks he did?

Chris snorts and eases his toned body down off the counter to refill both of their glasses. "Whatever you say."

Darren scowls down at his admittedly thin looking sauce. “Porca vacca.”

The pasta is overcooked, the sauce separates, and the salad ends up oily and over-dressed, but it all tastes amazing all the same. Dirty dishes are left where they finished with them. Two more empty green glass bottles litter the coffee table, and Chris' lips are stained from the wine and puffy swollen from Darren's mouth. They are more than a little drunk and deliriously happy as they lay on their sides, Chris' back against his chest. Chris had stopped humming and slurring the lyrics to an old Sinatra song a few minutes ago, and Darren suspects that he has drifted off. Darren burrows his nose into the short spiky hair at the back of Chris' neck, he smells like tomato sauce, sweat, and his shampoo. 

"Voglio restare sempre con te."

"Hmm?" Chris stirs in front of him, tilting his chin, but letting his eyes stay closed. 

Darren's fingers brush the sweaty locks of stray hair back off his high forehead. 

"Voglio baciarti."

Chris wrinkles his nose as the hair of Darren's cheek brushes his face. 

"Buonenotte, Angelo."

"Kay, that's nice. Sleep now."

Darren hugs his arms tighter around the warm, strong body laying against him, while he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italian to English translations:
> 
> “Porca vacca.” - Italian slang, equivalent to "Ah, dammit."
> 
> "Voglio restare sempre con te." - "I want to be with you forever."
> 
> "Voglio baciarti." - "I want to kiss you."
> 
> "Buonenotte, Angelo." - "Goodnight, Angel."


	27. Dance - Chris and Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I was screamed at more by Zinnia in this one than any other. Maybe. Blame all the schmoop on Lynne.
> 
> Song used in this chapter: "[Thinking Out Loud](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WpyfrixXBqU)" by Ed Sheeran... and others.

He can’t deny the fact that travel preparations, even for only a few days, were significantly easier when it was just him and Brian in the house. The addition of not one, but two affection-seeking, needy creatures in his daily life does slow Chris down considerably. That being said, he wouldn’t change a thing.

Chris sets the alarm on his phone to wake himself early. He has been procrastinating in regards to packing for the five day trip, something that goes against his chronic perpetual planning disorder. The only way that he will get things done is to make sure that he packs everything he needs while Darren is asleep. But after he has neatly folded and stowed away small stacks of jeans, shirts, underwear, and socks in his suitcase, there isn’t any room left for an admittedly smaller than average adult male. Okay, so maybe he won’t be able to take _everything_ that he needs with him. 

He’s making this trip alone, again. Ever since going to London to meet up with Darren that first time, Chris feels an overwhelming drive to learn how to do things on his own. This short jaunt is a good test. He’ll fly over, meet up with the studio liaison who has been assigned to help chauffeur him around the city, stay in the hotel where he’s been booked, attend the meetings and historical tours that the production company has arranged for him. As much as he loves London, as deeply as he feels those ancient cobblestone streets and green parks in his blood, he’s never had the chance to explore the city completely on his own, and a handful of hours was grossly insufficient time to do such a thing, but it was all he’d be allowed. He would make it a point to ask them for a day to himself while he was there as well, for some sightseeing of his own and a visit to a certain studio apartment in Bayswater, where he knew he had left a tiny portion of his heart that would stay there indefinitely. He would go and let himself sit quietly in the place where he had finally let go of his stubborn pride, and admit that there were things in life that he needed more than certainty and control, that there were people, _a person_ , who he could possibly live without, but didn’t want to. To Chris, it doesn't matter what kind of tailspin it sends things into.

Chris has to catch his flight that evening, and Darren is playing an important event around the same time. That leaves them the morning together, a few more hours to be together before his life would hit the fast forward button, and become a dizzying blur of travel, cameras, and smiling faces. He knew he would never fully get over the palm sweating anxiety that came from so many people staring and pushing and _expecting_ , it just went against the grain of who he was. He had chosen this career, and he knew that these appearances were something that came along with the many amazing opportunities he had been given, but he would never be comfortable in the role. He wishes he could take the thick sense of warmth, ease, and stillness that came from having Darren near him and spread it over his skin like a balm to sooth his jagged nerves when the time came to face the entire world like that, just bottle it and place it inside his toiletries bag alongside his deodorant and conditioner.

As it is, Chris thinks he has made the most out of the last few days, spending as much time with him as he could, allowing themselves time to just be together without worries and intrusions. Quiet hours spent talking about nothing of consequence, sitting on the floor in Darren’s cramped home studio and listening to him rehearse the song he’d be performing as the first dance at the wedding reception. Darren was coerced into playing all of the new songs he’d written that Chris had never gotten a chance to hear, with Chris closing his eyes and letting the piano take him away while he’d slide his feet up underneath the edge of the rug that sat on the hardwood floor. He had made sure Darren’s lips were well-kissed and swollen, watching old movies together on the couch with their bodies pressed closely enough together that their clothing smelled like a mingled combination of them both. That smell was home now, and would be, no matter where they were physically located, or how many miles were placed between them. They had indulged, and played, and loved as much as they could in the short time they had been given. It would have to be enough to pull him through the coming weeks.

Chris pours a large bowl of each of the four different kinds of cereal that he finds in the kitchen, grabbing two spoons and the gallon of milk that he checks first to make sure isn't past the expiration date, this _is_ Darren's house, and takes it all back out into the living room to wait for Darren to wake up. He sits down on the sofa and imagines he can hear the ticking of a clock that Darren doesn't own, marking the minutes that slip away from them. As much time as they have spent, it still feels wasteful to be sitting alone when Darren is still so near. It's without any conscious decision, or regard for the milk that he leaves sitting out, that he finds his legs carrying him back down the hall to the bedroom. 

Darren has rolled back over and curled into a ball in his sleep since Chris climbed out of the bed. His skin glows golden in the bright morning sunlight, and Chris can't help but reach out and trail his fingers up the length of his spine, tracing the small round shape of the birthmark on his shoulder. He wasn't religious, never had been. The whole idea of one single supreme being having complete control over the world and all life within it, deciding who and what was worth his divine judgement, didn't sit right with him. There was too much potential for hypocrisy and hatred in organized religion. But he had grown up hearing that birthmarks were the spots where a person had been kissed by angels, and if anyone was selected by something good and light and pure to be touched and set apart as special, it would be Darren. He leaned forward and kissed the discolored patch of smooth skin.

How did he get here? How did this man so easily slide into his life and under his skin and tangle himself into the nerves and muscle? There were thousands of beautiful people in this city; funny, talented, charismatic men who would smile at Chris and try to flirt their way underneath his heavy walls or into his bed. He had appreciated and admired many of them, boys with pretty eyes, nice teeth, firm bodies, older men with success, killer suits and flattering words. He had even tried to find something more with a couple of them. But they weren't this, they weren't him. He needed the bright hazel eyes, hands that gripped his body too tight, but touched too gently. Lips that cussed like a sailor, kissed him like a man possessed, and laughed with the unrestrained joy of a child. Darren had come unexpected, Chris had been unprepared, and they had both been altered irrevocably. No one else would ever be enough, for either of them, and Chris knew that now. This ridiculous, crazy smart, dangerously sexy, scruffy, walking talking mess of a man was his, and had already been _it_ for him even before Chris had known he was looking for an it. Darren had come along and been everything he'd needed and wanted before he had ever wanted it.

A hand blindly reaches back and gropes around through the air before finding Chris' upper arm and grabs onto him. A protesting groan cuts through the quiet. 

"I feel clothes. Why clothes, Colfer?"

He laughs under his breath and drops another quick peck into the dark, messy hair. "Because it's noon, and some of us had to get up and make sure that their bag was packed." He'd bet just about anything that Darren had just stuck his bottom lip out and was now pouting into the pillow. Chris couldn't blame him. It would be nice to be able to pretend that today wasn't Saturday by just never leaving the bed to face the day. Nice, but impossible. Chris has to attend a dinner before heading to the airport, and Darren has to get to the hotel where the wedding reception will be held, by six. That gives them only four short hours until they will have to start getting ready.

He plays with the curve of Darren's ear, flicking the tip back and forth with his finger. "How's your head? Need some Ibuprofen?" He had been forced to swallow a couple of pills when he had first gotten out of bed. Chris isn't sure how much they had drank last night, but his mouth had felt like it was stuffed full of cotton, and Darren's wine cabinet would certainly need restocking. 

"Not a lightweight." Darren yawns and starts to roll over, grunting when the sunlight leaks between his slitted eyelids. "Ugh, fuck yes. Motrin, and water, and a kiss to dull the pain of the rusted screwdriver that someone shoved into my temporal lobe." Darren flings one arm over his eyes and falls back down onto the mattress.

Chris grabs the bottle of pills off the bathroom counter and his own glass of room temperature tap water, and sits down on the edge of the bed. He shakes two orange tablets into the palm of his hand. "Open." He waits for Darren to open his lips and places the pills onto his tongue.

"Lifesaver." Darren gives his fingertips a quick kiss of gratitude, before taking the glass from his hand, and swallowing them down.

It is closer to one by the time that they both make it out of the bedroom. Of course Darren would only buy sugary breakfast cereals intended for kids. They bump elbows, reaching over each other's arms as they alternate between bites of Frosted Flakes, Fruity Pebbles, Golden Grahams, and Cheerios, talking about anything aside from the fact that this won't be possible in a few hours time. Chris snorts a laugh when he sees tiny droplets of milk caught in Darren's beard. "Your homelessness is starting to affect your overall hygiene." He teases and wipes away the milk with his thumb, sucking it into his mouth to clean it off.

Darren gets quiet after that, he drops his spoon into one of the bowls and sits back on the couch. Darren suddenly goes still and silent, making Chris turn around to sit facing him. 

"What's wrong?"

Darren's face looks conflicted, his forehead creased. "Were you serious about wanting me to shave all this crap off my face? I know I'll have to, eventually. I've just been lazy. I can go clean up if you want me to."

Chris traces the lines of Darren's face with his thumbs, across his heavy eyebrows, down the bridge of his nose, along his cheek bones and jaw, feeling the scratch and catch of the thick growth of the beard underneath his fingers. He saves the pink red bow of Darren's lips for last, skimming the outward edges of them with his thumb gently, making sure the exact shape and every tiny line was interminably fixed in his mind. "No. Well, yeah, shave it off if you want to, of course. But not yet, not today. I want to leave, and see you just like this when I'm gone and missing you."

Darren's eyes study his face, searching it for some answer or reassurance that is unknown to him. Chris wishes he knew what was going on behind those shining pools of brown, gold, and green. Suddenly Darren stands and grabs onto his forearms, bodily pulling Chris up after him.

"What?"

Darren slides his arms around Chris' waist, resting them lightly at the small of his back. 

"You're gonna dance with me."

Chris snorts at the way Darren grins up at him and begins to move his feet in a slow, unmeasured waltz step even as he continues to stand there still.

"I am, huh? Without music?"

Darren tightens his hold, stepping closer and eliminating the few inches of space that had been between them.

\----

He knows how fast time speeds by when they are so absorbed in each other like this. Three weeks doesn't sound like much right now, but Darren knows that as soon as Chris is far away from him and living the parts of his life that Darren has no place in, it won't take long for an hour to feel like days. Is that when he will see how much easier and less complicated his life is without Darren there making everything harder and more confusing? Without the constant heat of touch and taste, will what they have, seem less worth all that they have to endure, to preserve? The more he worries, the tighter his arms pull Chris' body against him. If he can get close enough maybe they will actually fuse together, and then nothing will ever be able to come between them again. Not other people, or labels, or doubts, or even Darren himself fucking everything up.

Chris' hands stroke up and down the length of his back from waist to neck, as they slowly sway back and forth in place. His eyes are closed and his lips curved into a smirk at the silliness of dancing without music, in the middle of the afternoon, in Darren's living room, where his head rests heavily on Darren's shoulder. Darren has his face angled down so he can watch the man in his arms that he doesn't ever want to let out of his sight, but knows he can only ever have so much of. He's incredible. Chris is going to do so much and be so much, and even though Darren wants to selfishly lock him into his embrace like this, and make this dance go on forever, he wouldn't try. This man is going to do so much in this world, and maybe, if he's lucky, Darren will be able to continue to watch from the sidelines. For as long as Chris allows him to, he will always be there watching and waiting for whatever time he could have him all to himself. Like this. 

_...my lonely days are over, and life is like..._

_...love alters not, with his brief hours and weeks..._

_...as I hold you, it says how much I do..._

_...your song will fill the air, sing it loud so..._

Bits and pieces of sonnets and love songs flow in and out of his mind, and he hums a complex and evolving medley under his breath. Each line and lyric feels honest and relevant as if he had written the words himself with Chris warm and relaxed against his chest, his lightly stubbled cheek against Darren's bare shoulder.

_"When your legs don't work like they used to before,_  
 _And I can't sweep you off of your feet._  
 _Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love?_  
 _Will your eyes still smile from your cheeks?"_

Bright eyes, so vibrantly blue in mid afternoon sun watch him from his shoulder as they move together like a single body.

_"And darling I will be loving you 'til we're seventy,_  
 _And baby my heart could still fall as hard at twenty-three."_

Chris' nose crinkles when he laughs a twinkling bell laugh at whatever ridiculous faces Darren must be making as he sings his soul out to him in the middle of the living room floor.

_"So baby now, take me into your loving arms._  
 _Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars._  
 _Oh darling, place your head on my beating heart._  
 _I'm thinking out loud, that maybe we found love right where we are."_

Chris hides his red-stained cheeks away into Darren's shoulder, playing with the wisps of baby-fine, black curls that grow at the nape of his neck, letting them catch around of the very tips of his fingers and bounce back. His breath is moist and warm against Darren's skin, and the way he rocks his hips slowly in easy waves against Darren's, tells him just how content he would be to stay exactly where he was if given the choice.

But some choices aren't theirs to make.

Darren's voice is low and thick with the sweet slow feeling in his blood when he places his mouth against Chris' ear. "No matter where you are, or where I am, every single time you think about me, I will be dancing with you just like this."

His mouth is captured seconds later. Chris holds his head firmly between both of his strong hands and kisses him until Darren's knees go weak and he feels himself stumble backwards a few steps. Intense emotions that burn so brightly and clear in Chris' gorgeous eyes, but get stoppered up when he tries to turn them into words, manifest themselves in the need to get as close to Darren as possible. His lips touch Darren's nose, each eyelid, chin, and cheeks, his hands bracketing the sides of his jaw.

Darren is shoved down onto his back on the couch, after his shorts and underwear are pushed down in one firm tug, kisses trailed across his collarbone and shoulders. Chris is insanely beautiful as he rushes through taking off his shirt and jeans, needing to feel Darren’s skin on his. No matter how close they can physically get, he knows that it won’t ever possibly be enough. Darren watches with wide soft eyes, feeling absolute euphoria when the heavy weight of the warm body settles on top of him. Chris is so perfect like this, _they_ are perfect, skin to skin and touching just to be close. 

The pleasure is a slow burn, neither of them giving much thought to the fact that their hard erections are hanging heavy and hot against each other's thighs. Darren drinks in every breathy whimper that Chris pants out through his nose, his lips never leaving Darren's skin. This is more than enough, it makes him shake and tremble as Chris presses him ever harder down into the couch. Darren's hands clasp onto his ass beneath the sharp bow of Chris' back. Chris is bent down at an extreme angle as if he can't be close enough, wanting to press them tightly enough together to actually become one body. Darren already felt like they were one heart, it would only be right.

His knees bend, one hairy leg falling open and to the side, slipping off the edge of the couch, as Chris takes both of their straining dicks into his soft hand and holds them there, letting them both move themselves through his fist. It's too dry and slow, but with the taste and smell of Chris surrounding him, and sucking hungerly at his lips, Darren gasps and feels the heat curl throughout his body. He doesn’t seek it out, just lets the feeling come to him.

"C-Chris..." His voice shakes when the head of Chris' cock scrapes the sensitive underside of his and forces him to arch up off the cushions.

"My... my baby, oh. I... I love you. Love you, Darren." Chris’ eyes are wide open and staring at Darren like he can't believe what he is saying, what he is doing.

The words he feels so much, with every laugh and touch and moment, but so rarely _hears_ , echo in his ears and cause Darren to cry out and spill with a hoarse choking cry of Chris' name between their bodies, and into Chris' slowly stroking hand. Lips cover his open and gasping mouth, Chris whimpering and following after him, just moments later. Darren holds him in his tingly-feeling arms, as Chris curls up on top of him still whispering the broken words over and over again into the side of his neck. 

"Love you... Dare. L-love, love you..."

They make love again in the shower, Chris leaning back against the tiled wall with one long, creamy leg hitched around Darren's body as they rut against each other until they come in weak spurts that are more trembly sensation than physical result. They both whisper tender words of reassurance and love and truth into the other's ears, lips, and chests. Afterwards they lay naked and drip drying on top of Darren's sheets, smiling and pretending for a few moments more, that this is all they will ever have to be. 

"It's after four."

Chris has been writing a story about a cat with wings, narrating the tale as he traces each word onto the skin of Darren's stomach in wide, looping, cursive letters. 

Darren sighs and glances over at the clock on the nightstand. 4:06. He closes his eyes and wraps his hand around Chris' where it had stilled across his stomach. "Clearly you can not read. It's after _eight_. Looks like you've missed your flight. You'll just have to stay."

"Bestselling author, here. Pretty sure I can read a digital clock, you ass." He sits up and rubs at his hair which is just beginning to dry into what will become a glorious example of rumpled sex hair. "Come on, up. I'll help you look presentable, Hippie McHobo." Darren stops him from climbing off the bed by grabbing onto Chris' leg, and Chris stops and looks down at him over his shoulder.

"You'll tell me how it ends, right? If the birds ever let her fly with them?" A part of him feels like it's dying, and he looks up at Chris with wet, golden eyes.

_Don’t let this be it. Don’t forget what this is. It took so much to get us here. Goddammit Chris, please please don’t forget. Come back to me after this, Angel._

Chris gets it, he knows. He bends down and places a soft kiss against the corner of Darren's mouth. "You know that I will. Next time."

Darren knows that he will, but _damn_ , is it still nice to hear.


	28. So Far - Darren and Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter late due to _"Holy shit, we just met Chris Colfer"_ hangovers. Sorry, sweeties.
> 
> Lovely Darren and Brian manip by [Heukii](http://heukii.tumblr.com/). Thanks, hon!

It is hard to say if it is better or worse, surrounding himself with people who were all celebrating the freedom and ability to live and love, at the exact moment that his own heart was speeding away from him on a transatlantic flight. 

A part of him did just want to curl up on the couch and wallow in the fact that Chris would be gone for the better part of a month, give in to his nature to be a little over dramatic, feel sorry for himself. And he might give in and do just that, if this had been any other event. It was too important and he had worked too hard to be able to be here in the first place. 

Not to mention the fact that Chris would literally kick his ass if he missed this particular party. So, maybe he was right where he needed to be after all.

Darren drains the tumbler of whiskey that he had requested from the bar on his way inside the venue, letting it scorch the inside of his throat and down to his stomach. He isn't worried about the song, he's rehearsed it enough, could play the tune in his sleep. He has already made his grand entrance, posed for the requisite photos, smiled at all the right people with the wrong person on his arm, and was now waiting at the end of an opulent hallway inside the Hilton for the ceremony and toasts to wrap up and be given his cue. 

He was so happy for them, these brave men who fought for the chance to love one another so openly and fully, without making excuses or taking no for an answer. But at the same time, he was envious. What did it say about him and his life that here, even here, he was playing the same old tired game? What kind of person does that?

_A weak little son of a bitch. Someone who would probably never deserve a man like Chris._

But Darren was here, that was something. He had negotiated and compromised his way into being allowed to be a part of this, small as it may be. It was a start. He waves over the nearest server, and orders another drink.

After the initial speeches, everyone raises their glass to salute love and change in the world, then it is his turn. Darren joins the blissful couple and their mothers on the makeshift dance floor and sings the first song. The moment was beautiful, and as bitter as it was sweet. Would they ever have this? Would it even ever be possible? Sometimes everything that was stacked against them felt so insurmountable that Darren stood on his tip toes, jumped up and down, and still couldn’t see over it. The feeling is compounded the moment that Chris is far away from him again, it makes him feel weak, but it’s human nature. 

But if this was his night, _their_ night, it would still only be the second most important moment of his life, not the first. That distinction was held by the first time Chris had admitted that he loved him. Darren had already known it, seen it, felt it in the way Chris would touch him, but hearing it, finally, had meant everything. He had conscious verification of the fact that he wasn't the only one who had been turned so upside down and twisted into an all new shape and form by this guy. They both felt it, Chris loved him, and was as stupid knocked flat on your ass in love as Darren was. Nothing, not even a legal acknowledgment and combining of names, could ever top that.

Did it even pay to dream, to want for more, when he had been given a gift like that? Maybe he shouldn't even let himself think about far away things he knew he'd more likely than not, ever have. 

He has Chris’ love, and that much he knows and trusts with everything in him. Everything else could come with time as long as that is true. He just has to believe that… and possibly slow down on the brandy. 

He smiles, congratulates the cloud nine couple who just renewed their vows, dances with friends, and mingles. Working a crowd has always come easily to him, even when his mind is a million miles away. Well, maybe not a _million_ miles, but certainly somewhere near the east coast by now. He is never able to be _off_. Darren hadn't known when he chose to be an actor that it would someday entail that he act his way through life. He can’t let any cracks show, can’t be the fully realized version of himself, except in those fleeting times where there isn’t anyone around who would know the difference. He can be himself when he is fully alone, or when he is with Chris. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out which of these scenarios that he prefers. But since one isn’t an option, he will have to make due with the other.

He finds his friend first, chatting up a well dressed couple by the poolside bar, laughing, clearly after having had a few drinks herself. She looks up when he approaches, noticing the tight set of his eyes.

“I’m cutting out early. You okay to get home?” 

She nods slowly, squinting and scrutinizing his face. “You alright?”

 _No, not really._ “Yeah, I just want to get home. Not in a big party mood.”

He just wants to be somewhere quiet, he just wants to _be_. He came, he sang, he supported. The press at the event had been even more than he had expected and he was sure the photographs would hit all the news outlets first thing in the morning. He felt drained and just needed some time and space to hear himself think. He was happy to throw what little weight his name has behind it towards a great cause, but in the end, anything he had to work this hard for and pretend so much over, became work. It tires him, and now he just wants to go home.

What he actually wanted was lips that taste like artificial sweetener and strong arms wrapped around his body, things that had only been away from him for five hours, and would be for longer than he was willing to dwell on right now. So, home it is. 

He makes his way through a final round of handshakes, “Nice to meet you’s”, and hurried goodbyes and has the valet bring up his car. He throws his guitar into the backseat, strips off his suit jacket, and gets into the car. He is only driving for five minutes when the thought of going back to his silent house, his empty bed where he spent the afternoon being told stories about cats who weren’t allowed to fly with birds, and being touched so perfectly that it made the air expand in his chest, causes his jaw to tighten and his fingers to clench around the steering wheel. If a police officer sees this U-turn, he is fucked.

He unlocks the door to the house and takes his shoes off just inside the front door, something he would never bother to do at home. He doesn’t go far, doesn’t turn on any lights aside from the one that is always left on in the kitchen when no one is home. Darren makes his way to the red upholstered couch and sinks down onto it. It doesn’t take long for him to have company. Two round, watery brown eyes blink at him through the darkness, two blonde-furred paws prop up on his thigh. He’d probably catch shit for getting dog hair on this suit, but he doesn’t give many fucks at that moment.

“I’m gonna miss him too, man. You’ve got me. I’m the one who buys you hot dogs and stuff, anyway. Hey! Don’t look at me like that, they’re not made out of actual dogs. C’mere.” 

He reaches down and draws the over-sized puppy up to lay directly on top of him. The warmth of another body, even a small fuzzy one, is a simple, base comfort. Some strangely anesthetizing combination of the liquor he had consumed at the wedding, the smell of Chris and home all around him, and Cooper’s quiet heavy panting breaths, lull Darren under into a deep and dreamless sleep.

\----

Another too long flight with too many bodies packed in way too close of quarters. First class sure doesn’t mean what it used to when flying commercial. Why couldn’t he have been born back in the golden days of luxury streamliner travel? So what If it took weeks to get from New York to the UK back then? Aside from that whole Titanic debacle, it hadn’t seemed that bad. Chris was pretty sure he could deal with that. He cracks his neck sitting in the back of the taxi that will deposit him at his London hotel to sleep off the worst of the jet lag before he is due at the studio in… oh God, six hours. 

Leaning his head against the cab’s window, he drowsily browses the messages and news feed on his phone. He pauses his half asleep scrolling when the headline swims up to him through the haze and registers in his mind. He clicks on the news story and feels a warmth that he hadn’t realized he had been lacking, begin to spill through him. Chris’ thumb traces the length of the inch tall image of the body in gray on the phone’s screen.

It’s a beautiful image, the man in it even more so. The sight makes Chris’ mind wander to dangerous places. Would they ever do this? Would he stand in front of a crowd of everyone he cared about and tell the world that he’d managed to have the kindest, most gentle, warmest man he knew choose him? He wouldn’t want the world invited in, no paid cameras, but he would scream it to every person who he felt deserved to know, if he could. Would he ever kiss Darren as himself and laugh when the dummy tries to cop a feel in front of their grandparents, hear Cerina call him her favorite son, watch his sister share a dance with her new brother while he pretends not to cry?

Maybe. He can see it in a way that he never has been able to before. It seems almost possible, almost real. But in the meantime…

He pulls up his messaging app and writes a quick text. He finishes thumbing in what he wants to say, and then his finger hovers over the send button. He doesn’t want to just send a text, he wants to hear the voice attached to the face he’d just been daydreaming about. He knows it’s too early where Darren is, and that he is probably at home in bed sleeping off the effects of whatever he did after the wedding reception the night before, but Chris needs this. He dials the number, and waits. And waits. The call goes to voicemail twice before he hears a loud audible breath on the other side.

“-lo?” 

“Hey.” He can see Darren in his mind, curled up in a ball in his bed and yanking the blanket over his head with the phone cradled against his ear, crazy hair sticking up all over the place that he just wants to bury his face into. “Sorry, I know it’s really early.”

“S’okay.”

Chris huddles further into the corner of the car, as if protecting their private moment, like he was able to wrap his arms around Darren’s body. “I’m proud of you, you know. For doing what you did last night. I know you weren’t completely sure about it. Kinda miss you already. God, that sounds stupid.” He sighs and watches the busy London streets race past him through the window.

“What’s stupid about that? We miss you too already.”

Chris raises an eyebrow. “We? Bring someone home with you that I should know about?”

“Me and the dog, jackass.” 

He likes that answer a lot more. “As in my dog? Darren, did you kidnap my dog?”

A throaty low chuckle followed by a groan flows through the tiny speaker, and into Chris' ear. Again, the visual imagery appears in Chris' mind, Darren stretching and grinning wide. Knowing someone like that, from so brief and simple a sound, it was something he had always taken for granted with them. 

Darren yawns into the phone on his end. "Nah, just your house. the dog just elected to make me his bed since I invaded the couch."

Darren had slept on his couch? It wasn't that Chris minded, not at all, he sort of liked the idea of him there to look out for Brian and Cooper if Darren was going to be in town when he wasn't. His assistant would be in and out, but the trio would all be less lonely together. His little family, the thought made Chris blush even though there was no way for anyone to see it from a continent away. "So why are you on my couch?" 

There's a rustling sound that indicates Darren rolling over or standing up. "Already told you, I miss you."

Saying it comes so easily to him, there is no pain or awkwardness in his admission. Chris feels like he nearly hyperventilates having to admit his own attachment. 

They are pulling up to the hotel when Chris turns his eyes back out the window again. "Crap. Listen, I need to-"

"Go?" 

He smiles when he hears the combination of Darren's sigh and a hungry _"breakfast time, stupid human"_ whine in the background. "Yeah, at the hotel. need to get checked in and get up to my room."

Darren hums quietly into his ear, or Chris likes to imagine he is, anyway. "Sounds like about a fifteen minute task to me. Get settled, climb into bed, and call me back? I'll bullshit at you until you can fall asleep. I know you didn't get any rest on the plane."

The bellman is already waiting for Chris with his bag loaded onto a cart outside the taxi. Knowing that Darren is cuddled in his bed, talking to him in his low, honeyed voice until Chris is able to shut his mind off for long enough to get a few hours rest before his meetings have to start, that sounds just about perfect. "Call you right back?"

"You'd better."

\----

Chris isn’t sure how long that Darren talks to him quietly until he passes out in the bed. All he knows is that when he wakes up, his phone is still against his face, with a small amount of drool on it, and that four hours have gone by. He sits up and rubs at his eyes, wiping the worst of the sleep crust from them. He needs to shower and change, they’ll be sending a car for him in just over an hour. 

He wipes the phone off on his shirt and notices there is one new message waiting. He figures that it was just Darren wishing him a good sleep or asking him why he snores like a dump truck. But when he opens the image, he chokes over a sudden laugh in his throat.

“Come home soon, or we are taking over.”

His eyes sting, and he’s sure the smile on his face looks like something that should only be seen from behind safely padded walls. He shakes his head and lays the phone back down to go get ready.


	29. Ready - Chris and Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is a day late, darlings. Zinnia's scream after the joke may be one of my favorite things ever.
> 
> Thanks to Heukii for the Skype manips.

He finds himself walking past landmarks and sights without fully being able to take them in and appreciate just where he is. He had been so insistent upon having a day to himself to explore some of the spots in the city where he had never been or had visited before. He had been to some of them, but was forced to rush through, not given the time needed to live the experience to the fullest. But as it turns out, even doing something that makes excitement vibrate through your bones, in one of the most fascinating, oldest cities in the world, _alone_ , is sort of lonely. He turns and expects to find someone next to him to bounce his thoughts and observations off of, only to find throngs of strangers or empty squares of concrete. 

Chris considers himself to be a solitary person, he always has. It’s just a fact of the way his life has gone. Going from an awkward, misunderstood child, to a private, hounded young adult, it hadn’t exactly made him the most social person in the world. But for all of that, it takes being alone to realize how rarely he ever has been. He had gone directly from being under the oversight of his parents to being surrounded by a bubble of people who had been paid to look after and shelter him from the world. There had been no bubble of self-reliance in-between. He has never before travelled to some far away place and walked the streets without at least one familiar face next to him.There’s a freedom in it, but at the same time, he finds himself reaching for his phone and firing off repeated texts and sending photos to different people, in an attempt to somehow share what he is seeing with someone. Perhaps he isn’t the loner he thought was.

It’s not much of a surprise who the most common recipient of his outright message barrage turns out to be. Darren has always been an ever-present voice in the back of his mind. Whether they were working together or not, whether they were in a period of being good with one another, or quite the opposite, he was never fully absent from Chris’ thoughts. It was both comforting and infuriating, but he’d long ago gotten used to it. The fact that it was, that Darren _was_ , a part of him so unremovable. The major difference now seems only to be that it doesn’t make him grind his teeth together to admit it, even to himself. Darren was just a fact of his life, as much as freckles or anxiety, or hating the smell of bleach. Darren just _was_. 

The film is going to be amazing. With every meeting and reading he takes, he knows that this project is going to be one of the most challenging and important ones of his career, at least so far. He gets to meet some absolute legends, see the sights, and walk the streets that the fascinating man himself called home, and feels the tingle of the excitement flare up through him. He wants this, he’s ready for it. To use what he knows and apply it to the role that will push him, let him explore himself and his talents in a way that he has never been allowed to before. His feelings about the show ending are mixed, but he can’t deny that he is ready to spread his wings outside of the confines of that same old story. This is his chance to be a part of something influential and learn about himself as a performer in a new sense, to learn from the masters.

He is sitting down at a posh bistro having dinner conversation with someone that he only dreams could serve as even a temporary mentor, when his phone rings. He silences the call with a flash of his fingers and smiles apologetically. It buzzes again, with a text this time. Now? Really? 

“You had better be on fire. And I mean right now. Currently, at this second, in flames.” He had awkwardly excused himself from the table to walk to the men's room to call Darren back after the message that it was indeed important.

“No, fires. Sorry.”

Chris sighs and closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the dark wood-paneled bathroom wall. Here, even the public restrooms oozed sophistication. He could easily get used to this. 

“What’s wrong, then?”

“Knock knock.”

_Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding…_

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, knock knock.”

Chris lets the back of his head bang against the wall a few times. Did he seriously just get pulled away from what is likely to be one of the most important dinner meetings of his life for a knock knock joke? How does that even happen?

“I’m hanging up now.”

There is loud shuffling from the other end of the phone call. “No, no you’re not! Come on, just humor me.”

“No.” Chris takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, having to clench his fists and conscientiously remind himself that he can’t commit the murder of someone he actually likes having around. Usually. “Knock all you want, no one’s home. Bye, Dare.”

“Chris, don’t you dare push that button! It’ll take like ten seconds.” The excited lightness in Darren’s voice did little to ease his current agitation. 

“Fine, fine. Who’s there?” 

The things he does…

“Aisle.”

“Aisle who?”

“Aisle of you.”

“Aisle of me? Are you drunk right now? What does that even mean?” He lets the air out of his lungs with a huff and flicks his eyes over to the heavy, gold framed mirror hanging on the wall to make sure that he hasn’t completely destroyed his hair while playing along with Darren’s antics at the worst possible time. 

Darren chuckles lowly into the phone. “Say it out loud, Colfer.”

“Aisle of me.” Nope, still makes no sense. Why is he doing this again? 

“No, what I said.”

“Aisle of you?”

“I know, I love you, too.”

“Wha… you… I just… Darren!” The smug laughter that he hears in response to his sputtering makes the blood rush up into his face.

“I hate you right now.” 

The laughing gets louder. He quickly ends the call, and leans with both hands flat against the light-colored marble sink. The cool stone seeps up through his hands, but has no hope of lowering the flush from his face. He was going to kill that man.

For the rest of the dinner he knows he is a bit distracted, looking down at his plate, all too aware of the weight of his phone in his pocket, Darren’s delighted laughter at getting the corny joke over on him still an echo in the back of his head. He would pay for this. Make no doubt, Darren would pay.

\----

The following day he sits down at his computer after having spent the entire day on his feet, being ushered around to various tours and private viewings related to the project. Chris is tired, nothing sounds better to him than a hot shower and a soft mattress, but with an eight hour time difference, there is a short window of time where they can both talk. Dinner time here is breakfast time back home. As excited as he is about this film, having to cram so much into in just a couple of days is exhausting. He clicks the Skype icon and waits for the call to connect. He stretches his arms and neck, glancing over at the strange bed. God, he hates hotels.

The noise alerts him to the call being answered.

“Good morning.”

Chris snorts. “Don’t good morning me. I’m still pissed at you.” He wasn’t, not really. The awkwardness of the remainder of his dinner with his soon to be co-star had faded from him over night, thanks to a good night’s rest. He’d woken up sleepy and a little homesick, and seeing Darren’s face had been the first thought on his mind when he’d opened his eyes, and had stuck with him throughout his day. That didn’t stop him from making his revengeful pit stop on his way back to the hotel today, of course. 

He only had another two days here before he was due to fly back to L.A. to begin prep for his book tour. Darren was flying to New York to spend some time with his brother and his friends later that morning, after their daily check in. They would all but pass right by each other as they crisscrossed back and forth in the air. They both agree that trying to spend any time together in-between him getting back from London, and then launching into press for the book, would be impossible and just feel like not enough. They’d make up for the lost time once the tour was over and they both had a free week to breathe. 

He flashes back on the conversation earlier the day before when Darren had told him that now he had to go to New York to his brother’s place. 

_“Not that I don’t think it’s a great idea, but why would you have to go now?” He had asked._

_“Because,” Darren’s voice had been genuinely exhausted in his ear. “I can’t sleep in your bed or mine without you now. I’ve tried both. So I might as well go somewhere else to try to keep myself occupied.”_

_“Now don’t go adopting my sleeping habits.”_

_“Tell me you don’t sleep better when I am with you.”_

Of course Chris did, he did everything better when Darren was around to keep him tied down to the same world as everybody else.

Chris had grinned into his soda can, waiting downstairs at the hotel for the car to come and pick him up for the day, missing him so much in that moment that it ached in his stomach. 

Being able to see him now, even behind a computer screen eased that ache for the first time fully since he had been dropped off at the restaurant days before. 

“No, you’re not. The was brilliant and you know it.” Darren laughs into the camera at his own joke.

 _Asshole._ He tries to school the smile on his face. He was a cheesy idiot, but _his_ cheesy idiot. He looks good, he looks like home, and sex, and the smell of his own sheets, and relaxed fit jeans.

“All packed?” Chris tries a change of subject to move the conversation along. He knows they don’t have long today before Darren needs to leave for the airport. He wasn’t sure just how many flights the man has missed by showing up too late, but it was more than his fair share. 

Darren reaches up and scratches at his hair. “Yeah, I’m going to leave in just a few minutes. You sure you don’t want me to just stick around here, and…?”

“I’m sure.”

Darren sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Alright, fine. How was it today?”

Chris tells him about the spots he’d been chauffeured around to that day. The old pubs, historical homes, and haunts that the poet had frequented in his youth. Then he reveals how he’d spent a couple of hours just wandering around Westminster by himself. 

“Let’s see, what else…” He pretends to have to think about any other big details of his day.

“Oh yeah, I walked past Abbey Road.”

He can see the mention light up Darren’s face from all the way across the ocean… and through the screen of his laptop.

“But I didn’t stop or go in.”

“ _What?!_ " The look of shock and horror that crosses Darren’s handsome face is enough to make the inner twelve year old inside him giggle shamelessly. He knew he would get this reaction.

It takes Darren a moment to even be able to pull together a coherent reply. “Be glad I fucking worship the ground you walk on, Colfer, because you just entered full-on blasphemy territory."

Chris smirks and folds his arms on the tabletop in front of him. “That so? Well, maybe you’ll understand how I felt last night. You threw me off my game in the middle of a dinner date with Gandalf, you jerk!”

This time it’s Darren who’s left momentarily sputtering. “That is not even the same thing. And that joke needed telling.”

“Ugh.”

“And you loved it.”

“Ugh!”

“And you love me.”

“Stop while you’re ahead.” Chris doesn’t know what his face looks like, he’s guessing amused non-denial, he’s too distracted by Darren’s grin that must be visible from space.

\----

Darren sits on the balcony of his brother's thirty-second story apartment in the chair next to him with a cold bottle of beer in his hand, listening to the constant noise of the city below them. There was no other place in the world quite like New York. He isn't at all surprised that this is where Chuck had decided to set up home, he has considered it himself many times. It has a buzz and a hectic energy that resonates with Darren in a deep-seeded way. It has the stage, an endless supply of people, opportunities, amazing bagels. California has... other things.

He can see himself here someday on a more permanent basis. God only knows what will happen in a year, much less in five. Five years ago, he was just graduating, auditioning like crazy, wrapped up in the theatre company and his friends and his crazy life. He could never have envisioned the ways that his life has changed. Or the people he would meet. Getting the show had changed everything for him, absolutely everything. The good and the not so great that it had brought into his life has changed him so much that the idea of who he might be in another five, kind of scares him shitless.

But he has to think about these things now, doesn't he? Now that there are things he knows he wants, something to fight back for. Getting the show, making the choices he has, it may feel like it has taken things from him, made him hide parts of himself, but they were only hidden, not lost. They can't be lost because he has someone who will always know him better than he has ever known himself, and he got that because of the show, too. The fact that this time next year, it won't be one of the most important factors in his life, it just doesn't seem real.

He is quite literally knocked out of his thoughts by a bottle cap being thrown and hitting him in the side of the head. His eyelashes flutter as he blinks himself back into the present, and finds his brother smirking over at him.

"What?"

"I _said_ we've got tickets to a show tomorrow night, if you wanna go."

Oh, right, he had mentioned that on the phone, when Darren had called and announced he was getting ready to show up and crash in the spare bedroom for a couple of days. "Yeah, sounds good." Darren takes a long drink from his beer and looks out over the endless view of concrete, glass, and steel. 

His brother gives him a cynical look that absolutely screams of their father, a look that says "you came here to talk, so stop wasting my time."

"Got something to say, Charles?" 

His brother snorts, reaching out his hand to grab another beer from the case sitting on the table between them. "My life is an open book, D. I hear things have been interesting for you, though."

That's one way of putting it. "You talk to Mom too much."

"I can't help it that I am her favorite son."

"You wish, asshole." 

Chuck sits his bottle down on the table and folds his hands in his lap. "Heard you are finally owning up to all the shit that has been going on for the last couple of years."

Darren sits his own bottle down on the glass table top with a loud clink. "Almost three."

"Fuck. I'd ask if you were sure about it, but you were always different when it came to him."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that he is the one thing you have ever seemed to take halfway seriously. Colfer broke you out of your college slutty phase, thank God." His brother lofts his drink into the air as if toasting the other man all the way over in England. "And the rest of it? What are you going to do if this is a real thing now? You going to tell other people?"

Darren frowns. That's always the question, isn't it? He wants to, God does he. But... 

"We can't. Not now, at least. But we both agree on where we stand now. I mean, we've talked about it. I love him, man."

Darren jumps when his brother busts out into loud peals of laughter, another trait he picks up from their dad. "Yeah, no shit. You've loved him for three damn years, Dare. That was never the question. It hasn't stopped you both from screwing up and dicking around with other people, then feeling like crap, and whining about it all to innocent third parties like your smarter, more talented, far better looking brother. What I'm asking you is if you are ready for him this time?"

Darren looks up. There's not much to see but more buildings and the orange red glow of the city lights reflecting off of the thick July clouds. "I'm ready, he is too. We are good this time. No more fucking up. None of the artificial bullshit matters with him. It’s the only time that it seems worth it. So yeah, I’m ready now."

His brother smiles and holds his bottle up to tap against Darren's this time. "Well, I will drink to that." They both smile and take another pull from their bottles. "Come on, Hollywood. I want dinner, and you're buying."


	30. Waiting - Chris and Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and then not so fluff. So grateful for the incredible beta/muses on this one. I'd do _anything_ for you, too!

Chris doesn't think he has ever packed so much into such a limited amount of hours. The pre-production meetings and arrangements are all in place, he'll be back to begin work on the film at the beginning of next year. That is a few months later than he had originally thought, but the fact that the studio needs extra time to drum up the funding, is actually better in a way. He will be able to give the project his full focus then. In and around those meetings he had also made some time for himself, visiting places he had always wanted to get a closer look at, and even stealing an hour the night before, to drop by the apartment in Bayswater.

As soon as he'd walked through the small front gate up to the door, he felt a sense of home and welcome that he never experienced while he was travelling. This wasn't a stranger's house, wasn't a place foreign and unknown to him. This place was a part of Darren. No, it was more than that, the two weeks they had spent here had made it a part of _them_ , of whatever the combined unit of the two of them together was. He used the single shiny silver key attached to the red telephone booth keychain, and let himself in. The apartment had been gone over by a professional cleaning crew after they had left, and so the ghost of Darren's aftershave, fabric softener, and sweat smell could only be a figment of his own mind. Chris let his fingers trail across the off-white painted walls as he walked through the silent rooms. There was the spot on the wooden kitchen floor that he had dropped an entire carton of milk when Darren had snuck up behind him and touched a cold glass to his bare back one morning. Over there is where they had laid together on the overstuffed, fluffy, brown couch watching Graham Norton reruns for about twelve hours. Outside, there was the tiny backyard garden where Darren had declared that it was the right time and place to give the ever-present _something_ , a real chance to live and breathe. 

This wasn't the place where they had fallen in love, but it was the place that he had finally accepted that that was exactly what they were. There was no place else that Chris would want to be when he comes back to London, for a month this time, to shoot the movie. He would tell Darren as soon as he talked to him after he landed, tell him he had decided to stay there, subtly invite the other man to come with him. It might be possible now that it wouldn't happen until after the show wrapped filming. It was a long shot, but so were they, and the idea of an entire month here together was far too enticing to not even consider.

He lets himself travel that train of thought, daydream about the possibilities as he sits in a mostly vacant airport terminal at just before five in the morning. His flight doesn't leave for over an hour, but he knows what a nightmare international security can be, and always gives himself extra time. He is pretty good at finding ways to pass the time, that's why they invented social media. Well, maybe not exactly why, but close enough. He sends a few tweets, sends Darren and Alla both goodnight/good morning messages that they should get when they wake up in several hours, and is just beginning to navigate the browser on his phone to his favorite science blog, when the phone suddenly starts ringing in his hand. The sound was so unexpected and loud in the cavernous quiet space, that Chris nearly drops the phone that now showed Darren's crinkly-eyed smiling face, fumbling to hold onto and answer it at the last possible second. 

It was almost midnight in New York, he doesn't know why he is surprised that Darren would still be up.

Darren doesn't even wait for him to say anything. "Chris! Babe, hey, hey this place, it has this guy who is just like, he is amazing, Chris. And there are peanuts! Why aren't you here?"

Drunk Darren, then. Great. Chris rolls his eyes up at the terminal ceiling far above his head. He is glad that he is enjoying himself. "Hi, Dare. Who is this amazing guy and do I need to be jealous?"

"Jealo- What? No, _fuck_ no. But the guy, this sax guy at this jazz bar, he is fucking amazing! You should be here, too. Why aren't you here?" His voice takes on a high pitched whiney quality at the end of his slurred tangent. "I should learn to play the sax. That'd be pretty goddamn awesome."

"If anyone could play awesome sax, Darren, I'm sure it would be you." Chris chuckles into the phone. "You already play every other instrument known to mankind."

"Awesome sex? Are we talking about having awesome sex, Christopher?"

He snorts loudly into the phone. "I said awesome _sax_ , as in saxophone, drunken dummy."

"Are you sure? Cause I, I distinctly heard something about wanting to have awesome sex with you. I mean with me! I mean you with me. No! No, with both of us together, at the same time. Yeah, that is, that's sooo much better." He hears a jumble of voices in the background underneath the sound of Darren's inebriated laugh, followed by loud shushing noises.

"Um, who exactly are you saying this in front of and why?" Well he knew _why_ , Darren had absolutely zero filter when he was intoxicated. Chris also doesn't know any of his friends from New York so the thought of Darren saying too much in front of the wrong people, makes the skin on the back of Chris' neck begin to twitch and a knot to twist in his stomach. He had always been the one to know they live their lives balanced on the edge of a sharp knife, and that all it would take was one slip, one careless word to the wrong people and...

"Huh?" Darren acted confused by the question at first, which did nothing to reassure Chris in the least. But it was as if it sobered him up to some degree. He could hear movement on the other end of the call, and the music and loud chatter in the background grew more and more quiet until it cut out all together, and all that was left to hear was the deep sound of Darren taking a breath. "Hey, no, Chris. Don't worry, no one is paying me attention. I'm kinda plastered."

_Gee, hadn't noticed._

"They can't even hear me now. So back to the topic at hand. You _don't_ want to have awesome sex?"

Chris has to bite down on the inside of his right cheek to keep him from laughing out loud and drawing more attention from the suit-wearing business man sitting at the same gate a few rows over. Behind his eyelids he can see the image of Darren so clearly, drunk, his cheeks red, eyes glassy bright, sweaty, too long curls hanging down all around his face. Oh, he wants. "I didn't say that." He takes a steadying breath in and slowly out. "But it is going to be a while, remember? I'm only home for a couple of days, during which they'll have me so busy that I probably will need to set an alarm to remind myself to breathe. And then it is right back out to begin the tour. Can't always get we want." 

It's so _not_ a surprise when Darren immediately begins to sing the Rolling Stones song quietly into the phone, that this time Chris does giggle to himself. If anyone is watching, fine. Let them look.

Darren stops after one chorus and half a verse. "I miss you, though. Not just like sex and shit, but _you_. I miss your socks."

Chris blinks at that. "My socks? How drunk are you, Darren?" It was a legitimate question, and could have a truly frightening answer.

"Yeah, like when we sleep and you pass out and forget to take off your socks, and they feel good against my legs and stuff. I can clench my toes up in them if they get cold, ya know? I miss that."

Chris doesn't know exactly when or what Darren is referring to, or why he would be wearing socks to bed in the middle of July, but the way that Darren's smooth voice in his ear had gone all wistful and soft makes him smile anyway and wish he did remember. "I know, me too."

"And I miss your face, your face with the lips on it."

"Yes, that would be the only one I have..."

"Shut it, Colfer. Dammit, I just fucking miss you so bad." He hears a blown puff of air static into the speaker of the phone and then the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing.

_Oh my God, they are having this conversation in the men's room of a bar._

"Listen," he starts to say, but is promptly cut off.

"No, you listen. It hasn't even been a week, and I miss you like you took all of the working parts of my body over there with you. And that is how I am going to feel until I can have you close to me again. So please take care of yourself and just... hurry. Borrow some magic from your damn books and make time go faster, okay? Because I need you, always need you."

Chris feels his heart flutter inside his ribcage like a bird trying to break free and fly out. He would if he could, he'd take every bit of magic he could summon, and use it to fast-forward the two weeks it would take to launch and tour to support his book, and be back to a place where he could have Darren in his arms. He has to swallow hard before he can snark out a reply. 

"That barely even sounded drunk."

"So you'll try?"

His fingers spasm around the phone where he holds it to his ear. "Yeah, I'll try."

\----

He wakes up to it. To the knowledge that things have happened that will surely make Chris upset and make his life harder. The thought sort of kills him. It is infinitesimally worse than the pounding of the hangover that has taken up residence in the inside of his skull. He knows that Chris is in the air, is still blissfully unaware of the storm that he is about to fly right into. There is absolutely nothing that Darren can do to stop it, he can't even be there to to help cushion the blow in person once Chris walks off of that plane and directly into the center of a hurricane. His words will be all that he has to give, and he can only hope that Chris will hear them, and if he does, that they will be enough.

He spends most of the morning and into the sunny afternoon with his phone in his hand. He barely leaves his spot on his brother's couch, his knee anxiously jiggling up and down at a frantic speed. He checks the status of Chris' flight on the app on his phone every few minutes. He isn't sure if he is wishing it would move faster or never land, just knowing that as long as he is still in the air, the drama and stress of today can't touch him. But planes don't stay up forever, and there is no way that what has happened won't reach and upset Chris. Darren is more aware of that fact than anyone.

There is no one in the world who has a better understanding of the close and guarded way that Chris presents himself to the world. He thinks, analyzes, rethinks, and then carefully executes every public move that he makes. It was one of the (many) reasons that Chris had always been so hesitant about letting anything deeper than just beyond the surface, happen between them. If it ever got out, it would be a media wildfire and would consume everything in its path. Chris would never want to deal with the scrutiny and the fallout of something like that. 

And with this being on the days before he was set to release his book, he wasn't going to be happy. No, Chris was going to be furious. He had always possessed a quiet kind of anger that burned just under his skin and froze like ice in his eyes. Darren's own shouting and occasional punching of a wall didn't even come close to the intensity of the feeling when Chris was truly angry. He had seen it enough times to know that for certain. 

This was going to cause someone as rigid and structured as Chris a lot of stress and tension, which is the last thing Darren would ever want more of in his life. Sometimes things just happen, and you have no choice but to step up and just deal with it, even if it is the last thing you would ever want to do. This was one of those times.

He waits nervously, phone still clutched in his sweaty hand. The clock on the wall moves so slowly that Darren is sure it is mocking him, seeming to take forever to tick closer to the time when Chris' plane is due to land. He is sure that he probably won't be Chris' first call once he lands and finds out about this mess, but he is likely to be the second or third. His brother tries to make small talk, which Darren either ignores or answers with an irritable one word reply. Chuck knows him too well to take him too seriously and eventually gives it up as a lost cause, leaving some dinner for him that sits untouched in the white styrofoam container on the coffee table. 

The allotted time nears and then it's here. He checks the flight tracker app once more and confirms that the status has been changed to arrived on time. Chris will be turning his phone on now and bombarded with messages and the news that all this has happened without his knowledge. Darren waits... and waits. An hour passes by so slowly that the seconds must be exaggerated into larger units of time for the way that it feels to him. He knows Chris must be working frantically to deal with it all, but it feels like a physical pain not to just pick up the phone and call.

It is nearly two hours later, when it finally rings.

Darren accepts the call and places the phone up to his ear without saying anything, hoping that Chris will talk first and at least assure him that he is okay. But after several heavy seconds all that comes over the line is a deep sigh.

"Hey, look it's not that bad."

"How exactly is it _not_ that bad, Darren? You know how I feel about all this tabloid shit! All of the appearances coming up, the interviews, this is all I'm going to hear about. There will be nothing but jokes for weeks."

Darren closes his eyes, and let's his head fall down on the arm of the couch, suddenly feeling impossibly weary at the anxiety and harshness in Chris' voice. "The story is being picked up by every news outlet in the world, your name is out there. Sometimes you just have to do things that you don't necessarily want to do. I know how you don't like stuff being out of your control like this, so I am sorry that it had to happen. Just try to calm down, alright?"

Chris' response comes in the form on a noncommittal hmm followed by another sigh. "I have to go figure some stuff out. I will call you later, okay?"

"Chris, just..." Darren feels sick at the agitation that bleeds out though Chris' voice, and his own inability to make it better. "If I can do anything to help you, I will. "

It takes Chris a moment to answer. "I know that.”

“No, Chris, _listen to me_. I would do anything for you. You understand that, right?”

“I know you would. You know I do." Darren hears a muffled female voice in the background. "I really need to go right now. I... I'll call you. Bye."

He hangs up before Darren can say anything back to him. He drops the phone down onto the carpeted floor and rubs his hands over his face. There isn't much he can do right now but keep waiting.


	31. Secrets - Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lynne: "Who has seen Darren naked? I have seen Darren naked."
> 
> Desi and Zinnia: "WHAT?! Where were we?"
> 
> This is a real thing that happened on this beta call.

"I'm coming home." He stands on the sidewalk outside his brother's building, the bustle of a gray New York morning moving all around him. 

"No, you're not."

He pulls the phone away from his ear and frowns down at the lit screen like it might further express his displeasure at the response. 

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

He hears Chris sigh into the call. "How about I give you three? One, you already booked your flight to go see your friends in Chicago. Two, I am up to my eyeballs in stuff I have to do before I start press on Monday. If you are here, I won't get anything done. We aren't exactly at our most productive when we are together, and you know it. And three, because I am asking you to let me handle this right now."

It had been a couple of days since the entire Twitter fiasco. Chris still wasn't happy about it. The fact that he would continually have to deal with questions about something that he felt might overshadow the attention he wanted placed solely on the book, irritated him to no end. After he had calmed down and had planned out the stock answers he would be giving (and giving and giving...), he was doing a lot better with handling the small lapse in his strict control.

Darren was relieved, knowing Chris had been so upset, and not having been able to do anything about it, left him feeling like utter shit. Now that he was ready to leave New York and get out of his brother's hair, the temptation to go back to L.A. and steal a little of Chris' time, before it would be impossible to do so for literal _weeks_ , was spiking. It would be all too easy to change his flight plans to head in the direction of home, instead of making a two day long stop in the Windy City to hang out with his idiot friends. 

"I know, I just..." He shuffles his feet on the dirty cement.

"Me, too. I want to see you, well at least like ninety percent of the time, I do. Maybe not so much when you are doing that weird tapping thing that you do, but no. I don't want to have to fit in an hour for you in between all this other stuff that I have going on right now, and then just be right back out the door again. It's too hard for me to switch modes back and forth like that. When I'm with you..." Chris trails off, and he can hear the sound of a soft thud in the background like Chris had gotten up and gone into another room. 

Darren can easily picture him right then, sitting down on the small loveseat in his office or on the edge of his bed, pulling his glasses off and focusing only on the conversation they were having. "I have to be focused on this right now, and I can't do that and have you just standing around. We get so wrapped up in each other that everything else just kind of gets put on the back burner. And I can't afford for that to happen, this is my book, Dare. I've got to give this everything right now."

He closes his eyes and nods as if Chris can see the action. He gets it, it fucking blows, but he gets it. He let's the air out of his lungs in one long huff. "Yeah, yeah okay, Colfer. Take your two weeks, but after that-"

"After my signings are over, and you get back from that convention nonsense that you're doing, you'll come home and I may not let us leave this house for a week. After all the crazy traveling, God, that will probably feel like a vacation in itself. We can do this."

They could, _they would_ , but that didn't mean Darren has to like it. "Yeah, that will be a lot of hotel beds. However will you survive it? Not to mention, Brian is going to be pissed off as hell. I'll check in on them though, don't worry."

He can hear the smile in Chris' voice. "I'm not worried. You wouldn't miss a chance to try to assert yourself as the favorite. Just please stick to the pet food, okay? The vet recommends the stuff for a reason."

 _Not a chance._ "Course I will," he lies quickly. Darren leans against the wall next to the entrance of the apartment building. "This is hardly my first rodeo. I think I can help take care of a cat and a dog for a couple of weeks, Chris. I have managed to keep myself alive for twenty-seven years."

Chris snorts loudly into the phone with a low, throaty chuckle. "That's debatable. You still refuse to do litter box and poop scooping duties though. Is that right?"

"That is correct. I love all three of you, but a man has limits."

"I have it covered. I trust all of you to behave yourselves while I'm gone. No disasters, natural or otherwise."

Darren claps a hand over his chest and fakes an affronted tone. "What exactly are you implying? That when left alone I get up to no good?" 

"I've known you for four years, Darren. I know _exactly_ what kind of antics you get up to when you're reckless and bored. It's not always a pretty picture."

Darren's smile slips from his face. Were they still only talking about not wrecking the house? Somehow he didn’t think so. Chris can't actually think that he would go out and screw up or mess around behind his back after everything that it has taken to get them to the place where they are now. No, no way. That was before, and he wasn't that guy anymore, the one who would go out and drink and party away the thoughts of everything that was standing in the way of what he really wanted, who he was.

"Wrong, you know the guy who I was before we were both in this. All bets are off now."

Chris makes a humming sound that doesn't sound even close to convinced. "Guess we'll see."

"Yeah," Darren tries to fill his next words with as much conviction as he has inside of him, his belief in what they are. "We will."

\----

Despite everything, New York was good for him. He gets a chance to see friends he hasn't connected with in ages, is able to breathe and feel like himself for a few days. Chicago might be even better. He is proud of his friends. There is a warm feeling of accomplishment at seeing their optimistic, half drunken, young dreams playing out on a stage all these years later. He is met with grins and a round of over enthusiastic hugs when he walks into the theater during their rehearsal. These are his people, every one of them has seen him at his best and worst, loved him for who he was long before he was ever "Mr So-and-so, star of blah blah blah." He was accepted by them and he has a place in this group, but he isn't a part of it anymore. Something about being here just doesn't _feel_ the same. He's always planned to come back to the company on a more full-time basis, when that became an option, but now... now he just wasn't sure. 

Maybe his life and goals have just changed too much, or maybe he has, but he just couldn't see this being his dream anymore. That could be due to the fact that he just felt like he needed more now, more out of his career and future, more for himself than he would be able to have in Chicago. Wherever Chris wasn't, is nowhere that he can see himself ending up now.

His plan to quietly observe the shows, to just sit back in the dark theater unnoticed, and watch his oldest friends be awesome in their elements, of course goes to shit. He was an idiot for entertaining the idea that not shaving and a hat would do anything to hide himself from watchful eyes at the show, people were watching for him the second his feet hit the sidewalk. He didn't want this to be about him, hadn't even wanted anyone to know he was there, but those things were almost impossible for him now. He knows his whereabouts will be all over Twitter before they even make it to the second act. He does his best to ignore it, tamp down his irritation at the fans who turn around in their seats to watch him instead of the stage. They are just curious, excited to see him out and about, and he gets that. Darren is usually remarkably cool with it all, but even though it has only been a week, the distance was already making him anxious, and this time is supposed to be _his_ to relax and collect himself. 

The Kids do an amazing job, the show is hilarious, music's good, and he finds himself sitting in his seat bouncing his leg up and down, wanting to run up the aisle and jump right up onto the stage with them. Maybe he isn't as far removed from this part of himself as he thought. He hasn't had a chance to artistically perform in a couple of months now. _Artistically_ perform, because almost every day of his life feels like some kind of performance. He takes a short video on his phone and sends it to Chris. He'd love this, and nothing would make Darren happier than being able to combine these two parts of his life that way. He should be able to have that, to have the guy who he was so insane about, be able to sit in this small crowded theater beside him in the dark, laughing and fighting over an armrest. 

Someday. It's a promise that he makes to himself more and more often. When they finally get the chance to live out all of the "one day we wills" that Darren has sworn to himself that he will share with Chris at some vague, unspecified point in the future, there won't be time for much else. Not for a few years, at least. Because there aren't many things that he sees, hears, tastes, touches, or does, that he doesn't immediately think would be about twenty-three times better with that man standing next to him. Darren is so okay with that, and can only hope that Chris will be, too. 

The initial plan is altered when his friend tells him not to be an asshole, that there is no way he is going to stay in an $500 a night downtown hotel when his friends have guestrooms. He doesn't fight them, it feels great to be around these people who don't expect anything out of him, aside from just being the same old dumbass Darren who they had all known long before his life got so damn complicated. Hell, at least half of them have seen him naked. The conversation comes easy and he laughs a lot, something he has needed more of in his world in the last year. He can't tell them everything, though he is sure that many of them suspect. He hasn't ever been exactly subtle with his feelings, especially about Chris. He'd asked the guy out on the very first day they had ever worked together for Christ sakes, scrambling around frantically for an excuse, a lie about having extra concert tickets, just to spend more time getting to know this amazing guy who had knocked him flat on his ass. 

It was one lie that he would never regret. He didn't know it at the time, why he felt the overwhelming need to be around Chris all the time. He has always been an outgoing and friendly guy, but he had never gone so far out of his way, practically stood on his head for someone's attention. Everything that he was feeling, it made him almost dizzy, there had just been _so damn much_ , so fast. That was the night that started everything. 

As he walks down Belmont past the theater, Brian silently watches him out of the corner of his eye. They'd greeted a few fans who had stuck around long after the show had been over, and were now headed down the block to his car. They've known each other since his freshman year of college, and Darren knows that he is one of the ones who has known all along how intense things have been when it comes to him and Chris.

"I don't know, man. Something is different about you."

 _Yes, something is._ "Dude, you saw me like two months ago when you guys all got together for the meeting with the developers, which I haven't heard enough about, by the way. I don't like being kept out of the loop."

"Stop pouting, dumbass. And nice try with the redirection attempt." 

_Damn._

"Really? What is up with you? No one's even heard from you lately except by email. Not even Joe or Nick. That's not like you."

_Well, you see that guy who I have been madly in love with, the one who makes me laugh, makes me fucking scream, and pretty much threatens to make me lose everything I have been working to build, that guy, he has finally decided to give the two of us a shot. So I have been just a little preoccupied._

"I've been busy. You know how it is." _Wow, I am an asshole._

It would be so easy to just tell him, tell everyone, he knows that he can trust his friends, but this wasn't just his secret to tell anymore. A time would come when that will be possible, he knows it will. Until then, at least he is a pretty good actor.

"You just had to park in Egypt, didn't you?" He elbows his friend in the ribs as they walk, giving him what he hopes is a casual grin.

It seems to work. "Shut your trap, Criss. Want to go grab some wings? There's this place a couple blocks over where you haven't experienced the majesty, you poor deprived boy. I'll call some of the guys. Make it an after after-party?"

"Who do you think you are talking to, Holden? Get to dialing, my good sir."

Brian chuckles and pulls his cell phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. Darren breathes out his relief into the muggy night air with a quiet exhale. 

His friend laughs into his phone, starting about the many branches of the phone tree that it will take to get in touch with the crew, as many of them that will be sober enough to answer, at least. Chris is still centrally on his mind, and he pulls his own cell from his pocket.

He shakes his head seeing that they had reached the restaurant. He grins down at phone one last time, stroking his thumb across the contact name at the top.


	32. Choices - Chris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But are you _sure_ that's what color her lipgloss was?"  
>  "Oh my God, Zinnia!"  
> "Z, you need to be stopped."  
> "I'm going to go check..."
> 
> Reason 188 why Shifting Dreams takes so long to beta short chapters. It's all for you guys, all for you.

Chris knows how much Darren hates this, this whole ships passing in the night (or planes as the fact may be, but the idiom still stands) as they crisscross back and forth across the country. It isn't like it's something he particularly enjoys either, but this is _his_ book. This is the product of an entire _year's_ worth of "every spare moment". He pours his heart and soul into these books, it's probably the thing he is the most proud of in the world, and promoting them and giving it his all, has to be made the priority. With that smile, those big puppy dog eyes, and sinful hands around to distract him, even only for a few hours, he would never be able to accomplish it. His focus would be at best split, and at worst, he would blow his obligations and mess up the launch entirely.

It's not like there aren't a whole hell of a lot of them, obligations, that is. They don't land in New York until late Sunday evening, and the first of his many press stops for the following day requires him to be up again by 5 A.M., which is two in the morning back home. His own internal clock had had just enough time to readjust itself between coming back from London and flying back out here four short days later. Satan himself has to have been responsible for the creation of timezones. 

On the way out of the hotel lobby as they head to the car in the predawn grayness the next morning, he breaks his own personal rule and requests coffee. Yes, it was going to be that kind of day. 

The first few interviews aren't so bad, he enjoys talking about his books and the process of writing them. The stop at the Marvel comics headquarters is a fanboy dream, and he makes sure to take and share plenty of pictures to utilize for jealousy and bragging purposes. Yes, the Twitter shit comes up, as he knew it would, but he handles it reasonably well with the first round of questions, but when the tension does travel up his spine and make him bristle all over, his friend reaches over and puts a comforting hand on his arm. She gives him a closed lipped smile that reminds him "It's fine, we went over this. Make a quick joke and we can move on." So Chris takes a deep breath, and does just that.

It is somewhere in the car on the jam-packed streets of Manhattan that his phone vibrates in the front pocket of his black backpack. He is currently between press stops five and six, all before lunch time, it’s about time that dummy woke up. 

Alla watches him closely as Chris unconsciously grins so wide that his eyes nearly disappear underneath the rise of his cheeks, as his fingers scrabble at the zipper of his bag.

**[incoming image]**

The noise Chris makes is a screechy, embarrassing thing that he couldn't care less about at the moment. He cares about it as much as he does the fact that Alla is sitting next to him and staring at him hurriedly pressing the call button on his phone.

"Well, hello there."

He pays Darren's quick greeting no mind in his excitement.

"They were both in his bed? How does that even happen? They usually hate each other!"

Darren's laugh is loud in his ear. "They were both just in there when I came in to check on things. As soon as I took the picture, they were so busted, and took off to separate ends of the house. They have been playing you, Colfer."

Chris laughs until he feels tears begin to gather at the corners of his eyes and he is gasping for breath. "Oh my god, I'm going to get them for this! Darren..." He can't suppress his laughter long enough to get out a more coherent thought.

"Love hearing you lose it like that. Makes what I'm about to do _almost_ worth it."

Chris continues to ignore the looks he is getting from his friend sitting with him in the backseat of the car. They have arrived at the location of his next interview, idling by the curb. "And that is?"

"I'm taking the dog out for a walk." Darren sounds so pleased with himself at the simple statement that it isn't hard for Chris to close his eyelids and envision the self-satisfied smirk that he would now be wearing. 

"Oh you are, huh? You know what that will entail, don't you? Because I have already asked-" 

Darren snorts into the speaker of the phone, cutting him off. "I can handle this shit."

"Literally?"

"Yes, literal shit, Colfer. I've got this."

It has the be the weirdest statement that had ever made him want to blush and hide his face in his shoulder, but it does. Just the idea of Darren there, taking care of the things that are most important to him when Chris can't be there himself... this is right. This is how things are suppose to be when you have made a conscientious decision to share all of yourself, your life, with somebody. God, they were actually doing this now, weren't they?

Alla snaps her fingers in front of his face to bring him back to himself and his current time and place. He blinks back at her as she taps one manicured nail against the face of his red and black wristwatch. 

_Oh, the interview. Right._

"I'm sorry, but they have me all over the place today. I really have to go." He hopes that the honest unwillingness that he feels reaches Darren through the other end of the call. 

"Yeah, of course you do. Yeah. But first, hey, you're okay, right? Everything is good with you today?"

It is now. "Yes, I'm fine. Just trying to survive the first day in one piece. Wish me luck?"

"I do, but you don't need it. Luck is for suckers. Go knock 'em dead, Mister Best Seller."

Chris laughs and taps the screen of his phone to end the call.

\----

The Bravo show taping is the last thing on his schedule for the day, but also the most hectic. "Informal" appearances like this require an odd mix of uniform answers and being his true self. Laid back and relaxed is the last thing that the entire situation makes him feel, despite what the format of the show promises.

He is in the green room distractedly playing a game that doesn’t require much mental effort on his phone, when his friend walks in holding several sheets of paper. She sits down on the couch next to him, and grabs the cell phone out of his hands without a word, setting it down on the low table in front of them. So much for his high score. 

Chris looks up in surprise and notices the curious serious look on her face. She spreads the three papers out side by side on the table. Without reading them, Chris can see that many of the short passages on them are struck through with a blue ink pen.

"I was going over the questions they want to ask on air, approving or dismissing them."

_Okay?_

That was something she always did, nothing out of the ordinary there. Why bring it up to him now just before it was time to film? Chris knew she was good at her job, he trusted her explicitly.

"They want to ask if you are seeing anyone."

 _Of course they do._

Again this wasn't exactly a new thing, the question had been posed to him dozens of times over the last few years. Whenever they had pre-approval, which Chris usually insisted on, they vetoed the question before it even had to be addressed, otherwise he would just dance around it. 

"I thought maybe you would like to say something different."

Chris stares at her like she has lost her little blonde mind. Why on earth would he...

The look on her face stops him. It isn't angry, isn't judgmental, just thoughtful and concerned for him. She'd known all along what Darren was to him. She has made it very clear that while she didn't exactly approve, she loves him enough to let Chris make his own decisions and wants whatever will make him happy. She is a friend before she is an employee, and right now he knows she is silently asking him as both, how he is handling this complicated situation.

It's not that he hadn't loved Darren before, he has all along. Practically from the first moment, that first dinner on the day they'd met where they sat across the table from one another and Chris stared into those indescribably bright golden eyes and laughed so hard and talked so much that he was left physically exhausted by the time they finally paid the check. He had never met anyone more alive than Darren.

He had loved him on the night at Darren's old dingy shared apartment when drinks and flirting had led to him giving a part of himself to Darren that he had not been able to trust to another person, despite having tried a couple of times before. 

He loved him even when they would scream insults at one another, words that Chris knew would slice Darren's thin skin like knives. When they couldn't stand the sight of each other, and were vindictive, jealous, petty, and mean. 

Chris loved him when he brought another man into his arms and bed, wishing he had darker hair and bigger, rough-fingered hands.

Chris had _loved_ Darren all along the way, but it wasn't about that. What they are now is a mutual and determined choice to have a life together, not just in and out of one another's orbit. Darren made a choice to fight for him, and Chris was fighting back. Nothing about them being together was ever going to be simple, life just wasn’t ever going to make it easy for them. But they have each other, they have more love than Chris himself knows what to do with. 

He doesn't have the outlets to release that overwhelming knowledge of being so loved by someone like Darren that anyone else would have. He can't scream it out for every person in the world to hear, even though a part of him wants to. 

But maybe this much he can have. Maybe he can at least say "Yes, yes someone chose me, someone that I actually want back. I have this in my life and it's amazing, and dammit, I'm happy."

He looks back up at his friend. There is no time to tear himself up over the decision, to carefully weigh the pros and cons. He is due on the set in six minutes, and he isn't even mic’d yet. 

"If I do this, they can’t ask me anything further. He asks, I answer, and it's done. No follow-ups, no leading." His voice comes out more terrified and breathy than he intended. This was it, no turning back now.

"I'll make sure of it." Her smile is genuine as she leans down and presses a quick kiss to his forehead, before hurrying for the door.

"I can't go out there with lipstick on my face! It kind of defeats the entire purpose!" He yells after her, wiping his hand at the pinkish lip print left on his skin.

\----

Somehow, drawing on every last ounce of the cool control that he possesses, he is able to keep himself together long enough to keep smiling and chatting through the remainder of the show taping. The only give away to the turmoil swirling inside his mind, is in the hardening of his eyes. He makes it through the interview, poses for promotional photos, shakes all the hands that are thrust out towards him, and waits until he and Alla are the only ones left, sitting in the back seat of their dark, rented town car, to let his hands start to shake.

What in the hell had he just done?

To make a snap judgement like that, to open himself up to doubtless scrutiny and questions and assumptions. This wasn't him. Chris just didn't do this. What had he been thinking?

_That you love him and it's not something you should ever have to be ashamed of. That no one else stands a chance, or ever could, because they can't be him._

He doesn't understand how anyone in the world can't love Darren. But Chris loves him differently than anyone else, because he knows he is the only person who has ever been able to know all of the parts of Darren that there are. He admires that openness, the ability to let someone rip open your rib cage and just see everything inside of you. He doesn't know if he will ever be able to be that unhidden, but for Darren, he is willing to try.

Boyfriend. Shit, that wasn't even a conversation the two of them have ever even had. It wasn't right, not entirely. The term seems too conventional, trivial, when compared to the way they make each other feel. But he didn't think _"No, not really, Andy, but I do have someone who gets me, takes me with and for all of the stupid insanity that comes along with my life, and it feels like he is the center of my own personal gravity"_ would have gone over well. So it would have to do.

Guess he needs to talk Darren now.

It takes longer than it should to type out the text message into his phone with the way that his hands are sweaty and shaking.

Chris does know.

He doesn't speak another word until he is back at their midtown high-rise hotel. He mumbles to his friend that he'll think about it when she asks him if he wants to meet her and her sister for dinner in an hour, with absolutely zero intention of doing so. As soon as the loud click of the heavy hotel room door closes behind him, his body falls back against it. He just leans there and allows himself a few minutes to breathe into the darkness and silence of the room. He needs that to balance out all of the warring images and noise inside his head.

He yanks off his tie and red shirt placing them in a heap on the bed, leaving him in the tight jeans and sneakers he had worn for his interview, and slumps down heavily beside them. He's never been more grateful for speed dial.

Darren's concerned voice is filtering into his ear through the phone in less than a full ring. 

"Chris? What happened?"

He falls back onto the mattress and closes his eyes. Three words in Darren's warm voice already slowing the frantic racing inside of him. "I... They asked if I was seeing anyone, if I have a boyfriend."

There is a momentary pause on the other end of the call. "And you said?"

"I said yes."

The seconds that tick by after he admits it feel like an eternity as he waits for Darren's reaction to the news.

"So what you're telling me is that there is someone out there whose ass I seriously need to kick?"

Chris keeps his eyes tightly closed, but a tiny twitch pulls at the corner of one side of his mouth.

"He's not a really big guy, is he? Because I'll throw down, but we both know I'm more of a lover than a fighter, Colfer. I need to know how much physical damage that I'm looking at here. Black eye? Emergency room? Loss of my spleen?"

Chris rolls over onto his stomach on the bed, and grins into the down comforter. "He isn't very big. Not too tough, either. I think you'd be alright."

Darren laughs quietly into the phone which Chris holds so firmly against his face that it hurts his ear a little, but he doesn't lessen his grip. "Are you really okay? I mean, how are you going to handle this?"

That would be the question, wouldn't it? "I don't know. The show doesn't air until Sunday. I have almost a week to figure out what I will say if anyone else asks."

" _When_ they ask." Because they will.

"Yes, when I'm asked," Chris agrees, taking a deep breath and clenching his free hand in the stiff hair of his bangs. "Dare, people are going to think, I mean they're going to assume-"

"Fuck what the ambiguous _“they”_ think. People do that anyway. We know what we are. No one else gets to decide that. This is one of the few things that is completely up to you and me. Okay?"

Chris nods, still face-down in the comforter. "Yeah, yeah, I know. It's just..."

"You know, unless my short term memory is sorely lacking, I don't recall being asked to be anyone's boyfriend. I feel sort of cheated right now. How do you even know I would say yes?"

Chris starts laughing and rolls back onto his back. He wants to wrap his arms around Darren and hold him close to him so tightly that neither of them can breathe. 

"Darren, you're an idiot." 

"But from what I'm gathering, and correct me if I'm wrong here, I am your idiot?" 

He is. God, he actually, finally, _officially_ is. 

"Yes. Definitely _my_ idiot."


	33. Lullabye - Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been informed that I must forewarn that this chapter waltzes on the side of the explicit... in fact, it clog dances there.
> 
> In other words, sexy times ahead, folks.
> 
> Song used in this chapter "[Lullabye](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dcnd55tLCv8/)" by Billy Joel

It isn't that the tour and the signings are anything new to him. This is his fourth novel, and he is hardly unfamiliar with the attention or the overall process. It's not that the experiences are bad, they're just _wearing_. 

Each bookstore brings another few hundred people who each expect him to have a smile and genuine interest in whatever tiny snippet of their lives they share, or question that they have undoubtedly rehearsed in their minds for weeks. It isn't that he doesn't want to greet people, he is indescribably grateful to each and every person who has ever decided to read one of his books. They are his children, the honest product of his own mind and soul like nothing else. Chris is appreciative, humbled, and honored that they have been embraced by so many people.

It's just this entire thing... 

The endless lines of bright eyed people seem so excited to have a chance to simply see him, shake his hand, or give him some little gift. He has nothing to give back to these people, and it leaves him feeling unbalanced somehow. He isn't a person who feels some sense of unmitigated joy at these public events, even though he wishes that he were more like that. It would seem more fair that way, at least. But to Chris, this is work, this is his job. Press, interviews, camera flashes, book signings, it's all an obligation to him. A regrettable side effect of the career path he has chosen. It isn't a good feeling, being forced by none other than yourself and your own sense of duty, to try so hard to enjoy the repetitive act of signing your name a few thousand times for people who all think that they know you, but honestly know nothing.

By the end of the third city, Chris already feels like the blood in his veins has turned into something heavy like liquified lead. Alla keeps up a steady stream of lilting chatter, that he tunes out, as they head back to the hotel. He is tired, mentally from the non-stop push of the last four days, but also physically. As is usually the case when he is traveling or under stress, his insomnia returns full force. Lay in one position for an hour, roll over, watch the red digital numbers on the clock change again, return back to position A, while his mind races, disjointed thoughts bouncing around inside his head like ping pong balls that he has no hope of stopping. He manages around three or four hours of sleep a night, if he is lucky. The go-to excuse about strange, uncomfortable hotel beds and time differences, make logical enough sense, but Chris can only lie to himself so much.

He missed Darren. He missed the warmth of another body beside him at night, the weight of one hairy leg slung across his, and the soothing white noise of quiet snuffly snoring on the pillow next to his head. The time it had taken his body and mind to become dependant upon these things, to _him_ , should worry him, he knows this in the logical part of his mind. Maybe it would, if he were not just so damn _exhausted_. As it is, he just can't extend the mental effort.

He leans his forehead against the window, letting the coolness from the darkly tinted glass seep into his skin, and watches as streetlights, office towers, and coffee shops streak past without actually seeing anything. 

"...the road by eight."

He lifts his head and turns to look back at his friend when he catches only the tail end of her statement. She rolls her eyes at the blank look on his face, she is pretty used to him being the world's best listener when he is tired. 

"The wake up calls, I'm ordering them for six thirty in the morning, so that we can be on the road by eight. Okay? Long day of driving tomorrow." She repeats herself good naturedly, tucking a lock of long blonde hair back behind her ear, and going back to the tablet in her hands when he gives her a single head nod. 

At least tomorrow was an all travel day, even if there was a whole hell of a lot of it.

He sighs, and his right hand unconsciously moves to hover over the rectangular shape of his phone in the pocket of his jeans. His fingers twitch with a tiny spasm over the denim.

_No._ No, he wasn't going to call or text when there wasn't anything worth saying. 

He balls the hand into a tight fist and forces himself to pay attention to the conversation that was going on around him.

\----

The night progressed as they usually did, dinner with his team, back to the hotel, shower, and into bed by ten with only the bottom of his laptop sitting on his thighs to keep him warm. He spends a couple of hours of escapism into worlds far less complicated than his own. They only had to worry about death, curses, maniacal villains, and dragons there. Chris was pretty sure he'd trade that for having to deal with sleep disorders, promotional tours, and six A.M. wake up calls any day.

Setting his computer and glasses aside, he reaches for the phone on the nightstand. The clock now reads after midnight, and so it is time for the requisite goodnight call. Chris knows that he should probably think of something better to refer to the few minutes he spends talking to Darren that he gets each night, than just a good night call. It's not like it was a chore to do so. It was simply that after he hangs up, the next several hours he spends laying alone in the dark, tossing, turning and gazing up at a blank hotel room ceiling, feels even lonelier somehow. Hearing the words "sweet dreams", and knowing that it wouldn't happen, only means letting someone else down along with him.

"Bonjourno, thees is-a Giuseppe speaking. How-a may I direct your call?" 

Chris rolls his eyes at the ridiculous fake Italian accent. He's heard Darren's actual Italian dialect, and just thinking about the smooth flow of it being murmured softly into his ear, makes a small shiver snake up his spine.

"Cute. Just calling to check in." He settles back against the headboard with a heavy sigh, still feeling every ounce of the pressure of the day bearing down on him. 

"Everything is good here. Just sitting around the house, and, waiting for my sh- Hey! No, Coop! No more pizza, greedy little shit."

Chris rolls his eyes up towards the ceiling, there is no heat behind his words when he automatically begins to reprimand Darren. "Don't feed him pizza. The cheese isn't-"

"I'm just giving him my crusts, calm down, Dad."

Chris doesn't even fight him on the issue, or why the man is eating pizza at almost ten at night, he just closes his eyes and listens to the muffled sounds of Darren moving around the house, _his_ house, home, on the other end of the line. He wishes he were there so much that it aches in his temples. He hears Darren mumble something nonsensical to the dog, and then there is silence between them, aside from their alternating breathing, one starting in the space where the other's ends. 

"Something is wrong. What is going on, Chris?"

_You're not here. I try so hard to like what I'm doing, to be good enough at this, but I don't. I'm just not._

"Nothing, I'm just pretty tired."

"I'm sure you are, you never sleep, but bullshit. That isn't just your tired voice. Something's bothering you."

Chris rolls his head from side to side against the fake wood of the headboard. "I'm fine. It was just another long day out here."

"This can go one of two ways here. Either you can be a stubborn jerk and refuse to tell me what is really going on with you, therefore I’ll have to pry it out of you slowly over the course of the next several hours. Or you can save us both a lot of time and effort, and just talk to me."

He rubs at his temple over the spot where a dull headache has been trying to settle in all day, and lets his eyelids slide closed. Letting someone in like this was still something he was having to learn, being in love was a process of new experiences. At least, it was for him.

"It's just this tour, the signings. I guess it's all of it."

"What about it?"

He pulls the pillow sitting on the bed next to him into his lap to have something to do with his free hand. "It's hard to explain. You just stand there pinned like a bug under a magnifying glass. All these people are watching me and waiting for me to say something witty and make them laugh, and if I feel like if I don't _care_ about every single one, then I'm a jerk."

Darren's response is immediate. "You're not a jerk, Chris. You're human."

"There are just so many people, so many eyes on me all the time. Watching and expecting something from me that I don't always know how to give them."

"My eyes are on you, too, you know, even if you can't seen them. I've gotten good at seeing you from far away." Darren's voice is thoughtful and low in his ear, and he wants to wrap himself in it like a blanket to soothe his jagged nerves and tired body.

"It doesn't feel that way. There's so many people, every single day, and after a while all the faces blur together, and even the people I know start to look like strangers." He confesses, pulling the pillow up against his chest like a shield. He feels weak for saying it, even if it's the truth.

"I'm there. I am always hiding in the back of the room, creeping on you from behind a bookcase, making sure you are doing okay. And checking out your arms. Because, _shit_."

Chris grins against his will, falling over onto his side on the bed, pillow and all, with a loud groan. "Oh, God. Not the arms thing again."

"Yes, the arms." He sees Darren's redirection attempt exactly for what it is, and he loves him for it.

It wasn't the first time they’ve had the conversation, and Chris swears that the other man has a fixation. "They're _arms_ , Darren. Appendages. You have two of them yourself."

"Mine don't look like that! And I take great pride in those arms, I'll have you know."

Chris snorts out loud. "Okay, this I have to hear. Why do _you_ get to take pride in _my_ arms?"

"Because I know firsthand they are at least partially attributed to my fat ass and many rounds of strenuous wall-sex. So, you're welcome." The smug, but completely casual way that Darren says it, makes Chris turn red and choke on his breath.

"I think you might be overestimating your generous contribution." His face feels like it's on fire even as he grins at the appealing image the memories bring to mind.

"I’m only claiming _partial_ responsibility, Colfer. You can't deny that my ass just keeps on giving."

"You did not just make that joke. God." Chris gasps trying to stop the incessant giggles that come spilling from his throat. Darren's inherent cheese ball streak effectively killing anything even remotely sexy about his previous comment.

Apparently not for Darren though. 

Chris hears him hum a thoughtful rumble into the phone. 

"What?"

"Well..." There is a moment of hesitation, as if Darren were thinking carefully about how to word what he wants to say. "I'm not there, but I can help you _relax_ enough to maybe get a little sleep."

Chris narrows his eyes at the slow and deliberate way Darren says the word relax. He can't possibly... 

"If you are implying what I think you are, you are more insane than I previously thought, and I may need to rethink this entire relationship issue. That is the last thing on my mind." 

"You're tensed up like a guitar string about to snap. Babe, I _know_ you. Have you even been jerking off in the shower?" 

"Yes!" 

Had he? Once or twice, maybe? Or was that before he left for England? Okay, he couldn't precisely remember the last time he had gotten off, but it just seemed like a non-issue lately with Darren on the other side of the country.

"Sure you have." Darren's sharp chuckle is disbelieving and makes him frown into the pillow. "Look, it's almost one in the morning. You're exhausted, Chris. If you get your mind and body both into a relaxed happy place, you can get some rest. And then I can get some rest, because I won't have to be up half the night worrying about you. I'm here now, and perfectly willing to help you out."

"Oh, you are willing to listen to me jerk off. How considerate of you." He grumbles bitterly, flopping over onto his back.

"I said help you, not _listen_. I'm not that selfless. In fact..." Chris hears Darren make some kind of groaning noise and then footsteps. "Ah ha! Lube hidden in the blue shoebox on the top shelf of the closet when you're not home, just like at the old house. You're such a creature of habit, Colfer."

Chris' jaw drops open. "How did you?..."

"We've had sex _how_ many times?" Darren teases lightly with a chuckle. 

Fair enough. "Well, you enjoy that. Just do me a favor, and change my sheets after, Darren." Chris stretches out lengthways across the bed, letting his head hang down off the edge, and tries very hard not to think about whatever it was that Darren was going to be doing in his very own bed. _Damn._

"Your room has a mini bar, right?" 

Chris turns his head to glance upside down at the small black refrigerator across the hotel room. "It does," he confirms hesitantly, with his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Go fix yourself a drink, knock it back, then get naked, and come to bed with me." Darren says it like it's the most natural thing in the world. 

"I am not going to raid the hotel mini bar for tiny ten dollar bottles of booze. God, that is tacky." 

He can hear a loud huff into the call. "And why not?"

"Because I have to work in the morning."

"Wrong," Darren counters immediately. "You have a long travel day tomorrow."

Oh great, the man who can't remember the lyrics to a song he wrote himself when he was seventeen or his own cell phone number, manages to have _his_ schedule completely memorized. 

"And you can't tell me that you don't miss me. I know I am going out of my fucking mind over here without you."

Chris clenches the hand not holding his phone against his ear tightly into the gaudy multicolored bedspread. Of course he misses him. Two weeks without Darren's shining eyes, his pretty red mouth, that tight little body, and the sounds he makes, _oh God_ , the way Darren gasps and makes that low pitched moan... even the ghost of the sound in his head causes Chris' cock to wake up and twitch underneath the fabric of his underwear. 

He spends so much time being singularly focused on what he has to do while he is working, that he doesn't let his mind slow down long enough to linger on his wants. And there is _nothing_ , nothing in the world, that Chris wants more, than the man on the other end of this phone call. 

He pushes himself to sit up. "I still think this sounds like a stupid idea." Though his dick was already firmly disagreeing, thickening and heavy where it lay against his thigh.

"Chris, just trust me, okay? I'm not there, so let me take care of you the only way that I can right now." His voice had gone soft and pleading in Chris' ear. He took a deep breath in through his nose, and closed his eyes at the intense urge that rose up in him to just grab Darren and kiss his soft lips senseless when he spoke like that. 

"Yeah, yeah, let's... okay."

The sound Darren makes is comically exhalant, and for the moment Chris is glad that he can't see him. Because if Darren just punched the air like Chris thinks he just did, that would likely be enough to kill the half hard erection that is poking out in the front of his navy boxer briefs. He crosses the room and crouches down in front of the mini fridge, opening the door, and quickly scanning his eyes over the contents inside. He ignores the water, sodas, juices, and snacks, and focuses instead on the rows of tiny glass bottles lined up in the door. 

"I can't believe I'm letting you talk me into this."

"Well, believe it, because I am making myself quite comfortable over here. Your mattress feels so much better than mine." 

Darren's golden skin laid out over his light colored sheets, the dark patches of wiry black hair that have grown in thick all over his body over the summer, and the way Chris loves to just bury his nose in it and breathe the smell of him in. 

_Fuck._

Chris had a hard time concentrating on the labels on the little bottles with the images assaulting his mind, and Darren's heavy breathing still loud in his ear through the phone. He blindly grabs out a tiny bottle of Stoli, and slams that refrigerator door closed again. He stands up and then realizes he doesn't have any of the usual mixers he needs to make vodka palatable.

"Shit, I don't even have ice."

"Just down a fucking shot of something and get your perfect ass naked, before I am forced to really start this party without you." Darren's voice has gone choppy and has that growling edge to it that never fails to render Chris absolutely useless. 

He imagines him now, strong muscled thighs spread and that perfect, thick, red cock laying on his stomach, Darren teasing the fingers of one hand down and back up tracing the wide vein along the underside of his shaft. Chris' mouth goes wet and his fingers fumble with the tiny plastic lid of the bottle. 

"Chris."

When Darren whines his name again, he throws his head back and chugs the entire contents of the little bottle straight. An act that he immediately regrets when he begins to choke on the acidic burn of the vodka hitting his stomach. "Ss-shit!" His eyes water as he sputters, his gaze luckily falling on the remainder of a bottle of Diet Coke he had brought back to the hotel with him, and forgotten to throw away. He chugs the flat, room temperature soda like it is the best thing he has ever tasted, trying to quell the burn of the alcohol as best he can. He sits down heavily on the side of the bed, gasping for air, while Darren laughs uncontrollably into the phone. "Fucking... hate you... you... horrible person."

Darren laughs even louder at that, even as Chris rubs at his throat and feels the blood rise up under the thin skin of his cheeks from the liquor. "Poor baby. Want me to kiss it better?"

Chris snorts. "What, the damage that I just did to my internal organs? My digestive tract? Sure, knock yourself out." Chris takes a few deep breaths and wipes away the moisture that has accumulated in his eyes while he choked. 

"Appealing as that sounds, I can think of a few other places I would much rather kiss you right now."

He can't help but smile and lean back onto the bed more comfortably. "Like?"

"Hmm." Darren pauses like he needs to think the question over. "Start with your neck, work my way up your jaw to your mouth, pull your chin down with my hands so that your sweet mouth is wide open and I can lick inside and steal a taste of your drink." 

Chris keeps his eyes closed and pictures Darren hovering above him, holding his chin in his hand and shoving his tongue into Chris' mouth, stealing his breath from his lungs, their mouths moving together slowly, dirty, and too wet. Darren's soft hair whispering across his forehead and closed eyelids when he would change the tilt of his head to take Chris' open mouth exactly like he wants. It makes his entire body throb. How could just the thought of this man's kiss drive him so far out of his mind? He whimpers out loud.

"I know, Angel. Want you too, so bad." Darren's voice isn't much more than a rasp now in between harsh breaths. 

Chris reaches his hand down and underneath the elastic band of his underwear and finds himself hard, damp to the touch, and aching. He wraps his fingers around his cock, and can't hold in the loud gasp at the feeling of his own hand. It's nowhere near as good as Darren's tighter, rougher grip, and he doesn't ever tease himself as slowly as the tortuous rhythm that Darren prefers, doesn't have the patience for it, but after so long of nothing, it feels pretty goddamn amazing. Chris bends his knees, spreading his legs apart. His boxers are tight due to the swell of his dick trapped inside with his hand, and the movement is limited, but he isn't about to stop long enough to stand up and take them off. 

The beautiful sounds of Darren's gravelly moans echo in his head.

"Tell me what you want. Anything you want that would feel good."

God, he wants _Darren_. All of him, every gorgeous inch of tanned skin, firm line of lean muscle, every curl of black hair. He wants his wet, perfect lips. He wants Darren's little waist held firmly in his hands. He wants the way it feels to be sunk deeply into the heat of his body and feel his pulse from the inside. 

Chris wants to feel every inch of that man, and know he is the only one who ever will. He has to share Darren with the rest of the world, but this, this thing, belongs to him and him alone.

"T-touch yourself. Touch it for me." He keeps his eyes tightly closed, and lets the insane amount of burning that he feels for this man override any sense of self-consciousness at making the request. 

Darren lets out a quiet, breathy laugh. "Oh, I am. Sounds like we both are."

"No, not like... Touch yourself like I would." Chris feels his heart slamming against the inside of his chest. He doesn't even realize that his hand has stilled, simply curled around the leaking head of his dick. He isn't even breathing until he hears Darren speak. 

"You mean here?"

He can see it. God, he can _see_. The round split cheeks of Darren's ass spread, opening for him to tease the wrinkled red brown patch of skin with his fingertips, tracing round and round until the sensitive muscle goes lax and winks open, showing a flash of the soft pink within.

"Okay, okay Chris. Oh, f-fuck."

The way Darren takes that first finger so easily, swallowing up a part of Chris into the silky heat of his body. The ripples of muscle, the tender dips, and tight pulling inside. Working him open slowly, effectively, even as Darren digs his fingernails into Chris' forearm or thigh, cursing like a sailor and begging him to get on with it already. The two of them working together to feel everything, Darren full and Chris safe and home and right.

As he closes his eyes and tries to hear Darren's quiet stuttery sounds over the thundering of his own pulse in his ears, he can pull it into his mind so easily. Darren's body tensing as he squeezes, clenching around his dick. Drowning himself and his every thought, feeling, and physical sensation into that wet, dark, soft place inside of him that should be, would be, something that only Chris would ever know, ever feel.

"Yeah, Chris? Ya with me?" The noise that echoes through phone's speaker into his ear is more of a loud puff of breath than a voice.

He tries to tell him that he is, _oh, he is_ , but all that comes out of his chest is a harsh grunted "Muhhh." His mind is too far, too deep, into the way that Darren's body draws him in, hungry and so ready to attach themselves together, locked in to create a single image like the last two pieces of a puzzle.

The physical act of sex was only the smallest part of their picture, but shit, did it make everything fucking beautiful.

"Damn, babe. If I couldn't actually h-hear how hard you are jerking that gorgeous thing, I'd... a-ahh, all the silent treatment would be giving me a complex right about now."

Chris breathes in sharply through his nose and loses himself in the glorious tangle of their bodies in his mind. Maybe it's the extreme over exhaustion, or the vodka in his bloodstream, or just Darren _fucking_ Criss and what the man does to him, but Chris feels no filter between his cock, balls, brain, and mouth. "Let me hear? Put the phone down there and let me hear it."

"Holy fuck. Um, 'kay. Hold on." There is a lot of shuffling noises on Darren's end of the call, and Chris strains his ears, listening as hard as he can with the phone pressed so tightly to his ear that it would probably cut off the circulation. Then he hears it, the wet squelch of lube and skin and Darren's thumb repeatedly smacking against the inside curve of one of his fleshy cheeks.

Chris knows that sound, and he feels it now. It runs like a current through the crazy network of his veins and he is crying out a hoarse, mangled interpretation of Darren's name and coming so hard that it feels like the orgasm is being painfully wrenched from his body.

"Fucking hell, Christopher. That's it. Yeah, all the fuck over me. Mess me up." Darren's babbling falls on mostly deaf ears while Chris lets the trembling aftershocks rattle through his bones. "Shit, babe, I'm here. I'm here too." 

His brain may not currently be capable of appreciating the sound of Darren's grunting as he paints his stomach and chest in thick strings of white, matting down the black hair to his skin, but Chris' cock does. He is still gasping as he feels one last small dribble of come ooze from the tip, and causing him to shudder all over.

They each lay in silence, breathing into the phones as their bodies begin to come down from the endorphin high. 

"If that didn't make you tired, I fucking surrender."

Chris smiles and hums his assent, wishing he could curl up on Darren's sweaty, come-streaked chest. He is tired out, pleasantly boneless, and feeling heavy. "You did good. So much better than Ambien, fewer side effects, too." 

Darren laughs quietly in his ear. "I'm glad. Think you'll be able to sleep now?"

Yes, Chris feels drowsy and heavy, so much so that he couldn't care less about the sticky dried come mess he would wake up to in a few short hours. But he isn't ready to let Darren go just yet. Not that he ever would be. 

"Stay on the phone til I'm asleep? Just talk about something boring that I can tune out like I usually do."

"Smartass. How about I sing for you?"

Chris smiles and moves just enough to curl himself up on a clean patch of sheets. "That works, too."

_"Goodnight, my angel, time to close your eyes_  
 _And save these questions for another day_  
 _I think I know what you've been asking me_  
 _I think you know what I've been trying to say_  
 _I promised I would never leave you_  
 _And you should always know_  
 _Wherever you may go, no matter where you are_  
 _I never will be far away..."_


	34. Messages - Darren and Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back. Sorry about the two day delay, friends. Bronchitis is a pain in the ass.
> 
> Now back to your regularly scheduled stupid boys in love.

Waking up with the crumbly, itchy feeling of dried come caked onto your skin is never pleasant, especially when you are as hairy as a wildebeest. Darren sits up in the middle of Chris' bed and has to pull the top sheet off of his body from where it had gotten stuck to his skin after their little long distance lovin’ the night before. Smiling to himself and shaking his head, he glances down at his cell phone still lying on the bed next to him. He needed a shower, he needed food, and possibly an hour on the couch to watch The Price Is Right, but before any of that...

When he presses the button to wake up his phone, he immediately notices two things. 

First the battery is down to 4%, not surprising. He had laid there for hours long after Chris' breathing had settled into an even, measured rhythm, just listening to the quiet inhales and exhales that meant Chris was finally getting the rest his mind and body so desperately needed. 

The second thing he notices is that he has one new text message.

**Good morning. I slept better than I have in weeks, guess I have you to thank for that. I have you to thank for a lot of things, Dare. For so long you have been everything to me, but never actually mine. And now I can't imagine things any other way. I love you.**

This is certainly a change of tune from the night before, but Darren isn't about to complain. Chris being happy and even affectionate, was a definite improvement from the stressed and detached mood he had been in when he first called Darren last night. Such is the power of a mind blowing orgasm and a good night's rest. He briefly considers texting Chris back to tell him as much, but decides against it being that his phone's charge probably wouldn't hold out. 

He doesn't have anything particular to do today, that has been a thing with him this summer. He just hasn't done a lot with his time. It's a shock, he can't remember a time when he wasn't busy in some way, going back to when he was young and involved in a half million things in school. He had always had more energy than he'd known what to do with, and found outlets to channel it into. He thought he needed this down time to gather himself, to hit the reset button on his life and just breathe, but it turns out that what he was doing is a lot of waiting. 

Waiting for Chris to come back and be the ultimate distraction. 

Waiting for final confirmation on what is going on with the show, and what his part in it will be.

Waiting to hear from his team about what their ideas are, regarding his next moves... and how many of them he will staunchly disagree with.

Waiting for the other shoe to drop, and for Chris to come to his senses and realize how crazy this entire thing they are doing really is. Waiting to be dropped like a bad habit, to have to wake up from the dream he had made real for the last couple of months.

As it turns out, Darren is _shit_ at waiting.

He does small things to try to keep his churning mind occupied, works on some music here, goes out to dinner with a friend there, but he knows that he is just passing time. That's why he agreed to fly over to London to do the convention, he just needs to do _something_. He wonders if people have noticed his quiet absence lately, but he can't honestly be bothered enough to care. 

If he stays in and does nothing again today, he is pretty sure he'll lose what is left of his mind. He checks on Brian and Cooper, locks up the house behind him, and heads out to his car. He plugs his phone into the charger, and doesn't even make it to the end of the driveway before it dings with a text message. Thinking it's from Chris, he reaches out and pulls up the message without glancing at the incoming name on the screen, and... not Chris. It's his manager. He isn't surprised, he has been expecting another "why are you avoiding me?" call for days now. There's no sense putting off the inevitable. 

The call is answered almost before he presses the send button. 

"Hey. Yeah... I've been busy." _Lies, lies, lies._ "What? I... I don't know, man. Yeah, yeah, okay. I'll show my face." He sighs and runs a hand down his face, as he turns onto the highway. They've let him be too silent, he knew they'd want him to make an appearance somewhere soon. It's not something he particularly wants to do, but stopping in at a bar is far less grating on his nerves than some huge public event, so he isn't about to fight them on this. "Yeah, I know, I'll be there.... No... Okay, fine, I'll tweet something. Pretty sure they know I'm not dead... Yeah, I got it." His hands clench so tight around the steering wheel that his knuckles turn white, as he tries not to lose his cool. Today wasn't a day when he was feeling all that receptive to being lectured and told things that he is already well aware of. "I know what I said. I'll take care of it... No. I've gotta go. Bye." He doesn't wait for a response, he ends the call, and unplugs the still nearly dead cell phone, and tosses it into the empty passenger seat without another thought. 

When he said he needed to find something to do, performing stupid pet tricks that he was instructed to do, by the people he actually paid to try to control his life, wasn't what he had in mind. There was too much stifling irony there for him to process. He needs to get out, away from L.A.

Without setting any specific destination in mind, he turns around in the parking lot of a fastfood place, and heads back out towards the freeway. Darren pulls his sunglasses on over his eyes, turns the radio up, presses the gas pedal down, and tries like hell to leave his troubled thoughts in the rearview mirror.

He doesn't take any notice of the messages as the first two come in, before his phone fully powers down and goes dead. He makes it a point of ignoring the small piece of technology entirely. He had no real intent of driving to Santa Barbara, it was just where he ended up. Darren gets out of the car, stretches his cramped legs and takes a long walk along the pier. The salty air and wind blowing through his hair reminds him of the last time he'd been this close to a beach. A sunrise, Chris' voice quiet and barely audible over the rush of the waves rolling up onto the sand, kicking damp sand onto one another's jeans. Moments like that were so simple, so easy. It just didn't make sense that wanting to have more like it, to have a whole life made out of them, should have to be so complicated. But this is just how things are, and it doesn't have to make sense for Darren to know that no matter what kind of crazy it brings along with it, having as much of Chris as he can is worth it to him.

He loses track of the time as he walks and watches the waves bat against the rocks below him, and before he knows it, he has spent the day trapped up in his own head. 

Shit. He'd never answered Chris' text from that morning. He jogs back to where he'd parked his car, mentally kicking himself in the ass. He climbs inside and immediately plugs his phone into the car charger, waiting impatiently for it to start up, knee jolting up and down against the steering column. Ignoring the other handful of messages he received while his phone had been off, he quickly scrolls through the several he'd gotten from Chris. There are random pictures of the sights around Boston, various blurry shots and landmarks that Darren isn't familiar with and has a hard time making out.

 **Okay, last one, I promise. Alla and the driver will probably murder me if I ask to stop again, and we're on our way to the airport anyway. Just wanted to show you where I've been today, since I'm always taking you with me.**

_Yeah, God, he is worth it._

He presses and holds down the 4 button on his phone's screen until the call connects. 

"He lives!" Chris' laugh in his ear causes Darren to let his eyes drift shut and he leans his head back against the headrest.

"Hey."

"Are you just now looking at your phone? God, Darren, it's like four there."

"I let it go dead, sorry."

Chris chuckles again. "Do I act surprised? The day they invent a phone that you don't have to recharge, your ass better be first in line. I'm sure Apple is doing billion dollar research with you specifically in mind." When Darren doesn't fire a quip right back at him, it causes Chris to pause. "Everything okay, Dare?"

Everything is, or at least it will be. He will make it okay. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good."

"You're quiet."

"Is that a bad thing? You do tell me to shut up an awful lot, Colfer."

"It's not good or bad, it just tells me something is on your mind."

Darren smirks, even from thousands of miles away there was no hiding from this man. "Drove up to Santa Barbara, took a walk."

He can hear the surprise in Chris' voice. "You did? What, the L.A. tourists and their white legs not good enough for you?" 

"You know I need variety in my life, Colfer."

Chris breathes out a quiet, amused "hmm" into the call. "Not in _everything_ , I hope." 

Oh no, there was no settling for anything, anyone else, when he had held perfection in his arms. Not anymore. He had spent years going down that road, and it hadn’t led him anywhere good. Chris was all he wanted. "No not in _everything_ , I guess. We'll just have to keep things interesting, what with my short attention span and all."

Chris snorts loudly into the phone. "Uh huh." 

He hears a soft female voice in the background. "Am I keeping you from something? Why are you going to the airport, I thought you were driving to Chicago?" 

"No, we thought about it, but there just isn't enough time. They've booked a private flight to get me there in time for the stuff I need to do in the morning. We take off in half an hour. They're all sitting here discussing where to have lunch in the city tomorrow." 

"Pizzeria da Nella, trust me."

Chris snickers his ear. "Pizza? That's a bit of a cliche, isn't it?"

"When you order the portobello funghi, and your mouth has an orgasm, you'll thank me. Pizzeria da Nella Cucina Napoletana. I'll text you the address." Darren isn't backing down on this one.

"Well, when you say it like that, it sounds like porn." 

Darren can hear other muffled voices arguing the merits of Chicago verses New York style pizza in the background on Chris' end of the call. 

His voice is softer and more serious when he speaks again. "So, did you find whatever it was you were looking for on your walk?"

"I already had it, just needed to breathe."

"You found... oxygen, then?"

 _You are my oxygen._ "I did, salty oxygen, at that."

"Good. Enjoy the beach, Darren."

"And you enjoy the wet, screaming orgasm in your mouth, Chris."

"Oh my God, I'm hanging up now." 

He does, but only after gasping a gorgeous, breathless little giggle into Darren's ear that will be enough to keep a smile on his face for the entire two hour drive home.

\----

The view is incredible. Chris stands at the top of the observation deck and looks out over the skyline from over a thousand feet up, leaning out to be supported only by a box of clear glass. It was dizzying, and made him feel unbalanced, and question his own sanity a little. 

It's no surprise that those thoughts led him to Darren. That is the same way that thinking of bright eyes and easy smiles and warm hands made him feel. He’s scared, unsteady on his own two feet, but also exhilarated, and just so fucking alive. He pulls out his phone and takes a picture through the glass. 

**The view is pretty impressive, but I still think I prefer waking up with you snoring next to me.**

He knows he is being a little ridiculous, he owns that fact. But when you are standing on top of the world, literally and figuratively, didn't it make sense to want to share that with your favorite person?

And Darren was, he was Chris' favorite. No one else made him laugh as hard, smile as often, worry as much, or hope as strongly as Darren. So, he could accept being a little ridiculous. They both were.

**My drooling, snoring ass outranks the Magnificent Mile? Nice. I'll remember that the next time I piss you off. Glad you are taking a little time to enjoy the city. I expect more pictures!**

\----

They end up going to one of the more famous, actually pronounceable pizza landmarks. Chris knows he is going to get a reaction even before he sends the picture.

**[Outgoing image]**

Although considering his recent history with the website, maybe he should be. Chris lays his phone down on the table, appeasing his friend who'd been giving him a critical eye for snickering at his cell all day. That was happening more and more on his trip. He'd only just taken a big bite when his phone beeped with a Twitter notification, nearly making Chris require the Heimlich Maneuver. 

_He wouldn't... Would he?..._

His hand is unsteady, still feeling choked as he hurriedly pulls up the app on the screen.

He receives firm pats on the back from the guy who was working security for him on the tour, and hurries to take a long sip of his drink to keep from choking.

_Asshole._


	35. Storms - Chris and Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an apology for taking a few sick days, another chapter! 
> 
> Let me just say in advance that this is one of the few instances when I don't exactly leave things on a happy note, but life is just like that sometimes. There are ups and downs, but nothing keeps these two apart for long. Hang in there with me.
> 
> Also, my apologies to the random guy Lynne and I accidentally called while beta'ing this chapter, who we both _swear_ said his name was B. Anderson. Oops.

Chris considers himself to be pretty skilled at reading the quirks and expressions on people's faces, especially those that he knows well. He knows when they are happy, faking it, tired, stressed out, road weary, all expressions he has seen his friend wear at various points in the last week. Alla is quite literally his right hand, the first person he looks to before making a step he is unsure of, steps that are sure to be seen and judged by more people than he can fathom. There is a level of trust built between them that he has come to rely on, it's a source of comfort when he is in situations where he feels anything but comfortable in his own skin.

His signing today is an early one, he has to catch another flight south once it is over in order to be in Florida first thing tomorrow. He knows his literary agent is skilled at her job, but clearly geography wasn't her field of expertise. The layout and pacing of this tour was somewhat insane. Who flies over a dozen states, down to south Florida, and u-turns back up to Georgia in a single day? It made no sense to his logical mind. Good thing Chris has become accustomed to dealing with the illogical. Three guesses on where (because of whom) he learned that little life skill.

He doesn't react when his phone vibrates in his pocket, it happens from time to time. It's usually either his mom or Darren, who has a tendency to forget what time Chris is working, no matter how often or recently he had been reminded. His suspicion that it's Darren is confirmed when the call goes to voicemail and rings again in his pocket immediately. Never let it be said that the man isn't persistent. Chris doesn't think much of the calls at all until he watches Alla step away from the table to take a call on her own phone. She usually ignores calls during work times as well, unless it is something, someone, _important_. If anything ever went wrong, the people closest to him would know to route calls through her, if he couldn't be reached. He could only think of a few times that had ever happened, when his sister had gotten very ill once, and his mother needed to reach him immediately... 

He could see tension in Alla's eyes as she speaks a few hurried words into the phone, seems to hang up, and then crosses one arm over her stomach, answering the call again. He tries to keep his attention on the young fans he was greeting, scrawling his signature inside the books, all while keeping a distracted eye on Alla standing a few yards away. The sense of alarm he feels is only heightened when she smiles at the security guards controlling the flow of the people in line, and leans down to whisper to Chris that he needs to take a quick break. Something is up.

He makes his apologies and promises the crowd that he will only be a minute, hurrying after her to the back room that had been set up as a private area for him at the bookstore. He feels a sense of alarm prickling through his body, and opens his mouth to ask what is going on. He doesn't get much more than the shape of the "W" on his lips, before she is shoving her own cell phone at his chest.

"He has called three times. I told him you were in the middle of an event, but he is insisting to speak to you, and won't listen to me. You need to handle this. Fast." 

There is no need to clarify what _he_ has her so agitated.

Chris turns away from her and faces the wall, pulling his own phone from his pocket. There are three missed calls on the front screen that he ignores, dialing Darren directly. 

"Chris! Fucking fuck, I am _so_ sorry! I was only gone for like ten seconds, and I don't, shit! I don't know how many he ate. I don't know what to do! God, I am so, so sorry. Just tell me what to do. Do I need to like call the vet or something? Shit, I don't know what to do!" Darren's voice is thick, his words hurried and rushing all over each other. There is even a snuffling sound that makes Chris think either he has suddenly caught a cold or he is... 

"Darren, calm down. Breathe. Dare... Darren! Are you _crying_? God, what is going on?" He can feel the desperation coming from Darren through the phone line, and it causes his own heart to pound in his chest. 

There's a wet sounding inhalation of breath. "I was just, we were hanging out on the couch, watching tv, and I was eating cookies and I needed more milk. So I ran to the kitchen for like thirty seconds tops, without fucking thinking. And when I came back, he... Cooper was eating the Oreos, and now I don't know what to do!" Darren sounds like he is in a blind panic and it makes Chris' forehead crumple in utter confusion.

"You're upset that the dog ate your cookies?"

"I just fed your fucking dog _chocolate_ , Chris! It's poisonous to dogs. If I just killed your goddamn dog, you will never forgive me for this."

The sense of relief that crashes down over Chris' head is what causes him to let out a loud and sharp laugh that echoes off the cement block walls of the empty store room. He isn't laughing _at_ Darren. Not really. Well, not _entirely_.

"You are aware that Oreos aren't made of real chocolate, aren't you? The dog will be _fine_. Calm down." He can't seem to stop himself from grinning like an idiot at Darren's idea of an "emergency" situation even when he knows he rightfully should be annoyed.

Darren is quiet for a moment, even though his breath remains uneven and jagged. "What... you're sure? He's alright?" He sounds uncertain and small in a way that makes Chris want to wrap his arms around him and squeeze him half to death. 

"I'm sure he is perfectly fine. You can't feed dogs actual blocks of chocolate because it will make them sick. I've given him cookies myself. He is fine."

 _"Fuck."_

There is a muted thud, like Darren had just sat down heavily wherever he had been standing. "God. I really thought I had fucked up this time. I mean, if I killed your dog on the one weekend I am soley responsible..."

"You didn't," Chris assures him, rolling his eyes at the other man's dramatics. He shouldn't find Darren's overreactions so damn endearing. "I know Cooper and Brian are both in good hands." He catches Alla's gaze over his shoulder, she doesn't look anything close to amused. "I really have to go now, okay? I'll call you later after I'm done here."

"Yeah, shit, sorry. Yeah. You go... do that. I'm going to sit here and try to calm the fuck down. God, Chris..."

"You're okay, we're fine. I will talk to you soon. Bye." 

He hurries to end the call and turns back to Alla with what he hopes is a sheepish smile. "Small Oreo-related crisis. All is well. We should get back out there before the natives get restless."

He goes to step around her towards the door, but stops short when she reaches out and catches his forearm in a firm grip that is surprisingly strong for such a petite woman. Her eyes are steely with some tension he doesn't expect to see on her usually gentle face. "We need to talk, but later. Yes, you need to go back out." When she pushes out of the room ahead of him, Chris swallows hard, and he mentally prepares himself for a short lecture about his and Darren's loose use of the emergency phone call protocol.

As it turns out, that isn't what his friend wants to talk to him about at all. 

The signing goes well, uneventful for the most part. Aside from Chris noticing out of the corner of his eye, Alla bristle a little at the mention of Darren's name from a fan. They are sitting in the car on the way back towards the city, getting ready to board a flight down to Miami in preparation for the next round of events tomorrow. She is fidgety, on edge, in her seat as they sit next to each other in the back. 

"I'm sorry about that back there." His lips still quirk at the corners when he thinks about what a mess Darren had been over the thought of having done something to hurt the dog, but he knows that it was badly-timed and took him away from what he was supposed to be doing for a few minutes. "He must have read the things about dogs and chocolate, and I sort of give him a hard time about what he feeds them. He's never really had animals-"

"Chris, do you know what you are doing?" Her clear eyes study his face intently like she is trying read the answer to her question there instead of letting him answer her verbally. 

His forehead creases with confusion at the unexpected question and her sudden concern. "I'm not sure what you..."

"You like order, you like calm, and I try hard to give you as much of that as I can. This thing with Darren... Chris, it seems like chaos follows him and everything he does. I know that you love him, but I love _you_ , and I worry about _you_. Are you sure that you can handle all of the complication that he brings with him?" She lays her hand on his thigh and squeezes, knowing she is one of the few people he is comfortable enough with to handle such casual touches. "Things won't stay such a secret forever, they _can't_. One day he, or you, or even someone else will slip up and all of this is going to be out there for the entire world to see. You do know this, don't you? You know that I will stand by you, but I don't know how well you will... cope with something like that." His mouth is a tight line by the time she finishes, looking at Chris like he is some kind of timid animal that she is trying not to spook.

He takes a deep breath and nods his head. It isn't something he likes to think about, he tries hard to avoid thinking about it at all. But at his core, Chris is a realist. He knows that at some point it is more than likely that one person too many will find out, that Darren will say the wrong thing, that he himself will stare too long, and the suspicions that have swirled around them for years, since the very beginning, actually, would be confirmed for people. They would be found out. No one could keep up the constant careful vigilance forever. And how _would_ he handle the chaos and craziness that would bring? He has no idea. 

"I know, and you're right. I wouldn't react well if everything came crashing down on top of me. I know that. It would be like my own personal incarnation of Hell. But... I can't not take the chance, Al. I have to be with him, and this is the only way. It's always been a risk, I know he is..." 

_He's what? A mess? Trapped? A bad idea? The only person who he has ever really wanted? It's all true._

"I'm doing this because trying to stay away from him just isn't an option anymore. We tried that, it didn't work. We hurt ourselves and other people in the process. If it all blows up in my face one day, then that's a price I'll have to pay. I'm not saying it will be easy." 

_Understatement._

He lets out a shaky breath, and gives her the world's most unconvincing, brave, close mouthed smile. "I will handle it because I have to. Because he is the only thing I am actually sure about." 

She looks at him silently for the span of several miles as they speed back towards the airport. "Okay." She finally says, patting Chris on the knee again. "We will cross that bridge when we come to it, I guess. Be glad I am _very_ good at my job."

"Oh, I am." They share a laugh then, and settle back into the usual ease between them. 

\----

Darren scrambles for his phone when it begins to ring on the coffee table, jostling Brian from where he was laying across his thighs. He'd made it a point to keep both him and Cooper close by, where he could keep an eye on them since the scare earlier.

Wouldn't that have been just like him, though? To fuck up everything on the very first day that he was the only person around in charge of looking after these little creatures that Chris loved like they were his actual children? Yeah, he wouldn't ever live this one down.

He sighs into the call as soon as it connects. "Go ahead and say it, I'm an idiot."

Chris' voice is deadpan. "You're an idiot."

"Gee, Colfer, tell me how you really feel." He relaxes back into the couch when he hears Chris laugh quietly into the phone.

"Be honest, if he had really been poisoned, were you willing to perform CPR on the dog?"

"I..." Darren stops, looking over at Cooper who lays nearby in the doorway between the kitchen and living room chewing on a rubber dog toy. "Maybe? I would have called doggie 9-1-1, at least." 

Chris snorts loudly into the phone. "Good to know. I don't know if I could ever kiss you again otherwise."

"Now _that_ would be a tragedy." Darren grins. "So other than me making an ass out of myself as usual, how is it going out there today?" 

He listens as Chris fills him in on the small details of his morning and the flight he needs to catch soon, complaining about someone-or-other's lack of a grasp on U.S. geography. Darren responds with the appropriate sympathetic hums and "uh huhs" while watching the dog finally manage to gnaw the rubber toy into two pieces. He jolts up off the couch and snatches the slobber-covered broken chew toy away before Cooper can manage to accidentally swallow one of the pieces. One near death experience was enough for one day. Darren was getting too old for this shit.

He is rinsing the dog drool off his hands at the kitchen sink when Chris stops and asks him another question. "You still have to go out tonight?" 

_Fuck._

With everything that had happened that afternoon, he had almost forgotten that he is being forced to go out and make a quick appearance at a trendy bar later. "Yeah," he sighs, wiping his hands off on the back of his jeans and leaning against the counter. "I have to go show my face for a little while. Ricky says I have been in, and I quote, _hibernation_ , and he isn't happy with me."

"Hmm, he usually isn't." Chris notes quietly.

"I have to go have a drink out with some of the usual suspects. I _so_ fucking don't feel like it, but it could be a lot worse, I guess. At least it's not a red carpet or something. If it'll get them off my back for a while, I'll play nice. Shouldn't take too long." He hopes, he really is not in the mood to put up the effort it takes to pretend like he is actually enjoying himself when he isn't.

"Well, be careful. Stay away from awesome sax players."

Chris' teasing makes him laugh and instantly feel a lot better about the whole idea. "I will try to keep that in mind. The weather channel said it might get kinda bad down south tonight, so you are the one who needs to be careful. Give me a call when you land safe and sound?"

"I always do, Darren. Look, I know you don't want to do this tonight, but just get through it, that's what I'm doing. Each day out here is one day closer to being able to come home." He doesn't add the _"and back to you"_ but he doesn't need to, Darren hears it anyway.

"God, this “ships passing in the night” shit sucks. Yeah, go, go and do what you need to do, so you can come back and I can barricade us in this house for a week." He runs a hand through his hair, the next week can't pass soon enough.

"We'll see about that. I'll talk to you tonight, okay?"

"Yeah. I love you, Colfer."

"Not enough to give my poor, dying dog CPR, apparently, but I know you do. Bye, Dare."

He laughs into the empty sun-filled kitchen and shakes his head. He'll need to actually go to his own house, something he hasn't been doing a lot of lately, and get ready to go out and fulfil his social obligations later. But afterwards, Darren knows he'll end up right back here.

\----

The weather channel was right. Chris flies directly into a howling summer storm, not having any idea that Darren is causing one of his own.

It's raining heavily, sheets of water falling from the sky when they climb down the steps of the small private plane after landing in Miami. Chris holds his backpack against his chest and makes a mad dash for cover across the wet tarmac, his shoes making squeaking sounds as he runs. By the time they drive to the hotel and get their bags inside, his clothing is damp and sticking uncomfortably to his body. The hotel is right on the water, and the light show of the thunder and lightning outside his window is mesmerizing. Chris can’t help but walk out onto the covered balcony and video a little of the raging thunderstorm. Even as a child growing up he'd never been afraid of storms like these, he was fascinated and would watch the natural laser show with his nose pressed against the glass of his bedroom window. He watches, letting the wind blow mist and stray drops of rain in at him, against his face, further soaking his clothes until the lightning gets entirely too close, forcing him back inside the room.

\----

Darren gets to the bar early. Everything in him says that he doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to be in this loud place, with these loud friends of a friend that weren't really friends, loud over-synthesized music, and close-packed bodies of the "beautiful people." 

They aren't beautiful though, they were fake. Plastic and phony, with little to nothing of substance inside of them. And so was he.

Darren asks the bartender to make his first scotch a double.

\----

Chris waits until almost one in the morning to try to call. He has to be up by seven, tomorrow is going to be another crazy day. Talking to Darren before going to bed should relax his nerves enough to help him get some rest, it always does. 

The rain is still pouring down outside his hotel room, he draws the curtains closed against the flashes of bright purplish lightning streaming across the inky black sky, and dials Darren's number.

No answer.

The thunder rumbles quietly overhead, and he tries again.

\----

The more he drinks, the less he thinks. Good, maybe Darren has been thinking too damn much.

He is doing exactly what people want him to be doing after all. Drinking, dancing, flirting. This is exactly the guy that they all want him to be, right? The one people will like, the one that's _allowed_. People love this guy, and if there's one thing he has always liked, it's being loved.

So if this is what he needs to be, he will be it. He's a fucking actor, man. He knows how to play this part well. He will do his job now, and worry about how much he will hate himself in the morning.

\----

Chris doesn't give up until nearly three in the morning. He doesn't know how he will be able to sleep with the rain, wind, and thunder still so freaking loud outside the sliding glass doors. He isn't as fascinated by it as he was a few short hours ago. Between the racket and not having Darren's warm voice in his ear as the last thing he hears before drifting off to sleep, he will be lucky if he gets even a couple hours of rest. 

He sighs and types out a last ditch effort text, lying stiffly in the strange, cold, hotel bed.

**Guess you are still out. You were right about the weather here, it's a nightmare outside! Wish you were here, or I was there. Either way. I just miss you. Goodnight, sleep well.**


	36. Real - Chris and Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter is quite a ride, my darlings. The editing process literally contained cannon balls, ice cream, much foul language, an alternate ending, and being beta'ed by a baby.
> 
> Please stick with me through the pain, I think you'll find it worth it in the end.
> 
> Song used in ths chapter "[Real Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Q2a24lmFTk)" by The Beatles

Chris’ expectations about how much sleep he was able to get that night had been on the low end, but not by much. When his alarm goes off at seven, the rain has finally passed and he had been asleep for about three hours. Lovely. He rolls over and his face hits the cell phone where he left it the night before. No missed calls, no messages.

Ignoring the nagging sense of unease inside of him by the fact that he hadn't heard from Darren, he gets up to shower. Looks like another coffee morning. _Ugh._ The stuff tastes like tree bark. Maybe this is just another rite of passage into his journey as a full fledged author.

He expects to hear from him all throughout the morning as he gets ready for the early signing of the day, keeping his phone on the counter, next to the sink, as he brushes his teeth and styles his hair. His lips pull into a smirk as he mentally scripts out what ways he will berate Darren for letting his cell phone go dead again when he has no less than three chargers sitting around his house. God, the man would be lost without him.

By the time it nears ten, he sits down on the end of the unmade hotel bed and frowns. Even with the time difference, Darren should have at least gotten up to let the dog out into the backyard. He must know that Chris would be worried about him...

He presses the button to wake up his phone, he will just have to call the landline at his house. Darren was usually a pretty heavy sleeper, but there was an extension on the nightstand by Chris' bed. Surely it would wake even _his_ lazy ass up. 

It's then that he notices the Twitter notifications.

\----

He feels like shit. His head hurts, and his neck is killing him from having fallen asleep on his own damn couch, shoes and all, without a pillow. The light streaming in through his windows makes Darren's eyes water and his head throb painfully. The sense of disorientation he feels is strange being that he is waking up alone, and in his own house, but he knows it isn't where he _should_ be. He is supposed to be at...

_Fuck. Fucking fuck fuck._

Bits and pieces of the night before come back to him in rough-edged, disjointed flashes. People who laughed too loud over the music. Tumbler after tumbler of gold brown liquid, he must have downed half a bottle of expensive single malt scotch. A bad decision made to be the personification of the person the whole damn world seemed to want him to be. A bleary, dead-eyed photo. The cab ride back to his house when the bouncer at the door deemed him too far gone to drive, and the text message he'd squinted at from the backseat of the taxi.

**...I just miss you. Goodnight, sleep well.**

His arms move sluggishly, like he had to drag them through wet concrete to pull his phone from the pocket of last night's wrinkled jeans that still smelled like a bar. It seems to take hours for the call to connect even though it could only have been a couple of seconds, but he is sure that his heart doesn't beat in his chest until he hears the voice on the other end of the line.

"Darren." He may not remember everything from the night before, the exact words he'd written, what he had said, but the flat, detached tone in Chris' voice tells him that _he_ does.

"I... Chris..." He feels like he is going to be sick, and has to hold his head in his free hand to keep the room from spinning around him. "I know that-"

"You clearly enjoyed yourself last night." The words are sharp, they cut into his skin, tearing him like tissue paper.

He draws in a shaking breath. "You know that I didn't. I had to go, they told me..."

"They told you to go out and show people you were alive and breathing, not to go get shit-faced and then make a complete ass of yourself for the entire world to see."

_Oh, God. How bad was it? What had he **done**?_

"You know that they expect me to-"

"I am well aware what they expect from you, Darren! I know who they want you to be, but that doesn't mean that you have to go out of your way to live up to every douchebag stereotype out there. I mean, Christ, Darren! Is this who you want to be? They can't control everything. I thought you wanted things to be different for yourself? The way to do that isn't to make yourself look even worse. There are limits, lines, and you are crossing them." 

The heat gathers up behind his tired, sore eyes and he knows that tears are not very far behind. "I'm fucking _sorry_ , okay? I got drunk and I was just doing what... Babe, what do you want me to say? I'll say whatever, I'll do whatever you want. Just... You don't know how goddamn hard this is. I hate the whole fucking thing, Chris."

\----

"...I hate the whole fucking thing, Chris."

_So do I. And right now, I **hate** you and myself for letting you make me feel this way. Again. What in the hell am I doing?_

Chris feels the muscles in his legs tense as the all too familiar need for fight or flight takes hold of him. He remembers this, too. When things get too hard and too confusing with him and Darren, Chris demands the final word, and runs as far and as fast as he can.

"God, Darren. Will you stop feeling sorry for yourself? You know what? When you choose what kind of man you want to be, we'll talk then. For right now, I have things that I have to do. Things like call Ash who has to go and take care of _my_ dog, since you obviously aren't up to the task. So, yeah."

Chris presses the end button on the screen, and tosses the phone away from him like it was made of something burning to the touch. It bounces off the mattress and onto the carpeted floor with a too quiet, unsatisfying, muted thud. He has to get out of this damn room, there isn't any air left in it. At least not any that he is able to breathe.

\----

The sun feels too bright and smiling feels too hard. Chris feels like his entire body and mind are all one huge bruise, tender and flinching at the slightest hint of any touch.

He hates this, he hates feeling this way. It has been a pattern with them, Darren worms his way in underneath the heavily fortified walls Chris has built around himself, and he gets angry. Angry at Darren for whatever stupid mistake he's made, but far more than that, Chris is furious at himself for allowing himself be put into a position to feel this way again in the first place. 

All of the hiding, façades, the _lies_... What was the point? How much of oneself does a person have to give up? And for what? A career? Success? A fucking _image_? 

It isn't the pictures, it isn't the stupid, thoughtless things he had said, or forgetting to call him and say goodnight. It was the _why_.

This was the last thing Chris has ever wanted for his life. He spent so much time when he was younger not liking who he was, the self acceptance he now has, was hard won and he values it more than most. He hates trying to hide who and what he is, refuses to do that. Watching Darren pretend to be something that Chris knows with every fiber of his being that he isn't... Wasn't that the same thing? Sacrificing what he believes and stands for, for the sake of presenting a false image, it makes Chris sick. 

Was being with Darren when _he_ has to hide, the same thing as hiding himself?

The thoughts plague him all day. He can't remember it ever being any harder to continue to smile and be gracious than it was today. Alla knows something is wrong, she watches him with a quiet concern that does nothing but further agitate his raw nerves. When she asks him if he is okay, he gives a weak smile and blames his tense silence on not having been able to sleep last night due to the storm. It isn’t a lie, not completely, there is a maelstrom raging inside his body with no hint of a clear sky in sight. He refuses to give her any indication that her worries only a day before, may have been right. Maybe he _can't_ handle this, handle Darren.

It's one of the longest days that he can ever remember spending. He somehow made it through the first signing, and during the hour flight in between both events, he stuck ear buds into his ears without any music playing, and kept his eyes focused out of the plane window, and then endured the agony of the second signing. Chris had asked Alla to find him some aspirin, which she did with only a wordless nod and a tight lipped smile. Thank God she knew him well enough not to push, with the condition he was in, even the small push would have been enough to make him break. 

His head hurts, his sleep deprived eyes feel gritty and sore, and his heart _aches_. At some unidentifiable point in the endless day, he comes to the uneasy realization of what he has to do, and he knows that that it isn't something that can be done without causing himself pain. The knowledge eats away at him like a cancer, but he has to do this.

When he is finally able to close himself away behind the locked door of his hotel room, he lets his head fall forward against the door and takes a few deep breaths.

\----

Eleven hours. That is how long it has been since Darren had heard the disappointed sound of Chris' voice before he ended the call and made Darren feel like a part of him was dying. Was this it? Had he really done it this time? Screwed up so badly that he had driven Chris away and woke him up to the obvious fact that he was better off without the constant drama that made up Darren's existence?

He spent the day pacing in his house, literally pacing the floor while he forced himself not to glance at the cabinet in his kitchen where he kept the various bottles of liquor. The destructive side of him whispering in his ear that there wasn't a point in suffering this without anything to ease the sting, it was the masochistic side that won over however, he deserved to feel like shit. When he tried to sit down at the piano to vent out even a little of the self-made frustration and darkness he was feeling, all that came out was strings of disharmonic notes that made no sense even to himself. Not even his go-to therapy did anything to sooth this. So Darren just paced. 

The sun was just beginning to dip down into the mountains, when the melody he has both been aching and yet terrified to hear all day, began to quietly play from on the dining room table where he had laid down his phone. Chris' ringtone. A short bright, lyricless melody that he had written himself that always makes him think of blue-green and artificial sweetener, sticky-smooth kisses. He drew in an uneasy breath, hoping he wouldn't have to hear the tune differently after this call.

"H-hey." His voice is a tense croak, only then realizing he has not spoken all day since the last time they talked. He hasn't exactly eaten or done much of anything else for that matter.

There is the sound of a deep inhale of air. "I can't do this, Darren."

Five words. That is all it takes to cause the earth to stop spinning and the fragile house of cards the two of them have built around each other kiss by kiss, laugh by laugh, and touch by touch, to come crashing down all around him like bricks.

His mouth opens and soundless words that his mind doesn't even register, begin to move across his lips. He isn't sure how long he has this silent conversation with himself before there is the loud sound of Chris sighing into the phone.

"I hate it all so much. I hate the way that it feels to sit back and watch you go out there and act like something you're not, it just doesn't seem worth it."

_Oh no, nononono. Angel, please, please don't say..._

"I can't stand it. Things shouldn't have to be this hard for us. I..." Chris audibly swallows and trails off.

Darren leans against the wall and begins to slide down it slowly, his knees giving out beneath the weight of his body like his heart had just turned into a thousand pound block of ice. He clenches his eyes tightly shut and feels a burning in his throat. "Chris... I know you're pissed, but-"

"You're right. I am angry at you, but I am fucking _infuriated_ by the stupid bullshit world that does this, that needs this from people. Because it could so easily destroy you, Dare, and I couldn't... It does that to people, we've both seen it. Firsthand. And to see it swallow you up, change you, I can't be a part of that. I won't be."

He nearly chokes on the air in his own chest. "Chris, whatever you are saying here, I kinda need you to go ahead and say it because I feel like I can't breathe."

"So do I, I have all day." Something in Chris' voice softens, warms. "Darren, I feel more things for you than I know words for, and sometimes not all of them are good. But I... you are in every part of everything. What happens to you happens to me, there just isn't any extracting you. The good and the bad, we're stuck together in all of it. I hate these things you have to do, this whole life. I can't unchoose the way you live yours, I wouldn't even try. If this is what you have to do, I hate it, but I'll have to find a way to deal with it all. But I can choose for myself, and I can't do it. I can't be a part of the circus and the lies. It just isn't me. After the show, after my contracts are up, I want out. I'm not going to take on any other projects like that. I need something more... private."

Darren's mind was all over the place. He could barely keep up with what Chris was saying, but the block of ice in his chest did begin to drip, thawing just a little with hope. "You don't want to handle the publicity, but us, are we...?"

"We are what we are. I can't change it even if I wanted to. There isn't any choice to make there. You just _are_ for me. I'm not going to let this be the thing that breaks us, I'm not going to run away when shit gets messy, Darren. Not this time. You'll live your public life, I'll live mine, and what we have is _ours_. No one else gets to dictate that. I will fight with every breath I have to keep that, because I don't want to try to fool myself into being half awake again. Life is going to suck sometimes, but as long as I'm with you, I am awake, and that is what I want." 

They let out a long, uneven breath simultaneously, any other time Darren would have laughed.

"Close your eyes." Chris asks quietly into the call.

"They are, they have been," he admits. "You had me fucking terrified. I thought..."

"I know. I almost thought it, too, for about a tenth of a second. But then the thought of not having you, of you really being out there with someone else, _no_. No, I don't always know how this is going to work, but I know that I don't want that. Besides, you are a freaking hopeless mess without me."

"And with you." Darren can't stop himself from throwing that in.

The small chuckle he hears in response is absolutely _everything_. "And with me, but maybe a little less?"

"Definitely less." He finally opens his eyes and looks out to see the the sun has set and the shadows have overtaken the room without him noticing. "But what are you going to do? I mean how are we-"

"Let me worry about that. I don't know. Now, are your eyes still closed?"

"Yeah," he lies, quickly shutting them again.

"Think about our hands, mine are grabbing onto yours, our fingers are all tangled up, and I am never letting go of them. Maybe this is the only thing that we have, that we know is for sure, but we're going to make this be enough. All the other shit that gets thrown at us can't make me let go of your hand, Dare. I'm not going to let it. You have to believe that, too. Can you?"

Chris' long pale fingers, intertwined with his, soft skin and rough guitar-calloused fingertips, light brown freckles across the back of Chris' knuckles, the tiny scar on the back of his own right hand. This was what they could count on. They weren't a house of cards, they were _this_. Four hands holding strong and fast, knotted together, clinging tight to the most important thing there was. "Yeah, I see us."

"Good, because I need you to. When I feel like I'm going to forget, I need you to hold onto my hands tighter, just like I will grab onto you when you need me to. We can do this."

Darren feels the one tear leak from the corner of his eye and down his cheek, drying against the skin there. "I... you know that I-"

"I know, that is the only reason I know we can find a way to make this work, despite everything. We're different. We want different things, we’ll end up in different places, different situations, but we've got to make that be okay."

"As long as you don't ever go somewhere so different that I can't chase after you." Darren knows he will spend the rest of his life following this man anywhere, no matter what road he chooses to get there.

"You're a stubborn ass, I can't even imagine where that could possibly be, but I'll try to keep that in mind."

Darren finally feels the ice melt completely, blood free to flow through his veins again. His legs have long since gone numb from where he sits on the floor and he feels a little dizzy from relief and a lack of food. They talk while he pours himself a glass of orange juice, makes, and then inhales a sandwich, sticking to lighter, easier subjects. Darren is sitting on a metal patio chair in his backyard when he hears Chris stutter over a heavy yawn.

"Tired? It's not that late there, is it?"

"I didn't really get a lot of rest last night. Stayed awake waiting for some asshole to call me."

"Fuck. Chris, I am so sor-"

"Stop. I'm messing with you. There was a crazy lightning storm, and I just couldn't sleep."

Darren stares out over the purplish evening sky, still feeling horrible about having kept Chris awake. He knew it wasn't a thunderstorm that caused him not to get any rest. It had been him, him and his crazy life and bad decisions. He'd do better, he had to. "I wish I could climb into bed with you right now. Just hold you, make sure you were warm and comfortable, just be there until you fall asleep."

Chris murmurs something quietly into the phone which may have been a soft "me too." Darren can hear muffled noises and movement in the background. "Well, luckily for you, I happen to have a bed here, a pillow that doesn't drool on me to wrap my arms around, and a rather vivid imagination. So let's go to bed?"

As if just by hearing the words, Darren can suddenly feel the emotional toll the day has taken on his body, and despite it only being nine, now he wants nothing more than to curl up in a soft nest of pillows and listen to Chris' voice... well, aside from actually being _with_ him, that is. 

"Relaxing actually sounds amazing right now. Sounds like we’ve both had quite a day. How about you stretch out, get comfortable, and I'll sing you something? It usually helps you sleep, to make up for..." _Being a stupid bastard who doesn't even come close to deserving you._ "...the lightning, and everything."

"Weeell..." Chris teases him by drawing out the word, like he needed to ponder the idea. "If you want to, then I guess I could humor you. But I'm tired, so you'd better make it a good one."

"I want to." Darren nearly trips over his own feet, as he hurries back into the house and snatches his guitar from where it had been leaning up against the wall. Whereas earlier he couldn't settle the anxiety inside himself enough to be able to play anything, his hands feel at home again around the neck of his guitar. 

He doesn't bother turning on any lights, and sits down on the foot of his bed. "Any specific requests?"

"Surprise me. As long as it's as amazing as I am." 

A song that perfect hadn’t been written yet, that much he was sure of. He laughs, strumming a few random chords just to warm up the strings. "Oh, no pressure."

"No, no pressure."

Darren hears more rustling, and imagines Chris pulling his t-shirt off over his head and snuggling down into the mattress. Again, he wishes he was there physically close to him, instead of sitting alone in the quiet, stillness of his own dark bedroom. 

Chris deserved something beautiful, rare, and one of a kind like he was. Darren shakes his head with a tiny smile pulling at one corner of his lips. 

_When all else fails..._

He shuffles the phone more securely between his cheek and shoulder.

_"All my little plans and schemes_  
 _Lost like some forgotten dreams_  
 _Seems that all I really was doing, was waiting for you..."_

He pauses, trying to remember the exact fingering for the song. It isn't one he can ever remember playing himself before. 

_"Just like little girls and boys_  
 _Playing with their little toys_  
 _Seems like all they really were doing, was waiting for love..."_

"That's nice." Chris mumbles sleepily into the phone. "One of yours?"

"Shut your sacrilegious mouth. That happens to be John Lennon."

"My apologies, then. Do continue."

_"Don't need to be alone_  
 _No need to be alone_  
 _It's real love, it's real_  
 _Yes it's real love, it's real_

_From this moment on I know_  
 _Exactly where my life will go_  
 _Seems that all I really was doing, was waiting for love_

_Don't need to be afraid_  
 _No need to be afraid_  
 _It's real love, it's real_  
 _Yes it's real love, it's real..."_

And it was, in every way that matters. This is the only thing about himself that Darren knows for a fact is real.

He finishes up the final chorus, and adds a little flourish to the end with a smug smile. 

"So, how was that?"

Silence.

"Chris?"

He hears a sniffling little snore. 

_Well, then._

He sets the guitar aside, and climbs out of his clothes, slipping under his cotton sheets. He closes his eyes and listens to the sound of Chris breathing steadily in and out. 

"I love you. You go ahead and sleep, Chris. I'm right here." 

He sinks his head back into his pillow, content to keep listening until his phone goes dead.


	37. Mirror - Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The schmaltz queens told me this wasn't _too_ too much. Schmoop ahead.

When Chris wakes the following morning, it's with a small smile on his lips and a pillowcase crease pressed into his cheek. The stress of the previous two days had been bled out of his body by the release of honesty, Darren's voice, and the full night of sleep he had finally gotten. He needed it, all of it. The decision he reached for himself, the connection and confirmation of the man, the life he has chosen, and the dreamless, blanked out rest that followed. He feels good now, ready and sure in a way that he often isn't.

He didn’t have much time to get himself cleaned up and downstairs to meet Alla before they would head back out for yet another short chartered flight. The sacrifice of going for a loose, more hastily-styled bed head look this morning is one that he is willing to make, in exchange for taking the time to compose a quick text message. Chris knows Darren is still in bed, fast asleep, curled into a ball in the middle of the mattress like he always does when he sleeps alone. He slumps down into the stiff-backed chair that sits against the wall, and permits himself a moment to imagine the salty taste of pressing his lips to each knob of that curved spine, covered by smooth tan skin. 

With his full, parted lips, impossibly long eyelashes brushing his cheeks and fluttering as his eyes move behind the lids in some vividly colored dream, Darren is painfully beautiful when he sleeps. Chris wonders what it looks like inside Darren's dreams, he can only imagine it's technicolored, frantic-paced, and with an eclectic soundtrack that never repeats, a film reel of people whom Darren has known, and places he has been, and things he wishes to learn. He can't help but wonder how many times his own face makes an appearance. _Often, always_ , his heart screams out from within his chest, echoing around throughout his body. Darren loves him, loves him in a burning, eye-watering, too bright to look directly at, way. Darren's kind of love is akin to dangerously staring right into the sun, and Chris has spent far too long being afraid of that. Now he has chosen to feel the heat on his face, risk the burn, even if it stands the chance of causing him to go blind.

**Sorry I passed out on you last night. Your song worked a little too well, and now I'm running late. It was worth it though. Have a good day, I'll be thinking about you.**

And he did. He thought of Darren at bright and sporadic moments throughout his day. When he heard "Ain't No Sunshine" in the airport, as a story idea struck him out of the blue in the car, as his editor and Alla mused over which landmarks they might have the time to see. Thoughts of him, the need for him, came crashing down in a thousand blatant and subtle ways. A pair of cheap, plastic sunglasses on a fan at the signing, pulling on a pair of jeans he knew would draw Darren's fingertips directly into his back pocket, watching one man take another's hand on the crowded street across from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Chris had to shake his head at himself, it was getting a little ridiculous. 

Things come to a head at his signing a couple of days later. He doesn't do a question and answer session in every city, there just isn't time. He usually enjoys the thought out questions that people submit that allow him to fully expand on his books and the world he's created, choosing which he wants to answer. Nothing personal, nothing invasive or too heavy, he is able to keep the conversation on the topics he wants, and focus on the matter at hand. Maybe the fact that he actually likes this part, speaks to the inner control freak, type-A personality in him. Okay, not maybe, it does. 

It was a great question, he loves that Alla knew to add it to the small stack that she hands him. His love of all things Potter related is legendary, and the last thing he expects when he chooses the question from the pile, is to be left sitting alone in front of hundreds of people frozen and fumbling, a proverbial deer in the headlights. It had seemed so innocuous, what would the twins see if faced with a mythical mirror that shows you your heart's deepest desire. He'd known the detailed answer he'd give for each of them as soon as his eyes skimmed across the question on the page. The last thing he expects is to hear someone in the crowd yell out that name, _his_ name.

In truth, he only pauses for a few seconds, but in the moment it feels like he is pinned there under a glaring spotlight, sweating for hours. His mind rushes directly into a panic red-tinged swirl of _what?...how?...I didn't...no...no he isn't...I...what?_

In reality, it is only a momentary pause, a small stumble over himself, and his answer comes out along with a hesitant joke to cover his faltering. It's shortened and forced, a far cry from what he had planned to say, but still, he plays it off well enough. Anyone watching would think he'd been merely surprised by the mention. He thinks. He _hopes_. It's not the first time something like this has happened to him in public, it isn't as though people don't known they are... associated, that certain groups of people don't suspect, but each time he flounders, it leaves him feeling unsettled and makes him worry. Either of them could be caught unaware, or slip up so easily at any time, and he knows full well how much harder it is for Darren, than himself. He is usually as guarded as Fort Knox, and if he can be so easily tripped up by the simple unexpected mention of just his _name_ , what must it he like for Darren who wears everything he thinks and feels on his sleeve, and in his eyes?

It's a reminder of what a perilous game they play.

It doesn't feel like he takes another full breath until he has waved a final goodbye to the crowd, and shuts himself into the backseat of the rental car.

His friend eyes him closely. She smooths down her top and waits to see if he will say anything first. That's not happening. "So, what was that back there?"

 _Nearly the biggest screw up in my own personal history? Proof that mind reading exists? The moment I almost pissed my pants?_

"Nothing."

A frown pulls at the corner of her lips. "It looked like something, Chris. Your eyes looked terrified. When they asked, you were thinking of him, weren't you?"

He doesn't dignify that with a response, they both know that he was. His eyes remain fixed, unseeing, on the blurs of trees and buildings outside of the tinted car window. He can hear her sigh heavily beside him.

"Think carefully about what you want, sweetheart."

That is exactly what he had been doing.

The dark, cool hotel room feels like a sanctuary, as it often does at the end of these humid, hectic days on the road. After the heavy door swings shut and locks behind him, it’s silent inside apart from the quiet mechanical hum of the air conditioning. He toes off the black and white sneakers that have finally just begun to feel properly worn in, that he totally intends on keeping for his everyday wardrobe once this tour is over, and falls back onto the fully made bed with an "oof." He wriggles around the foreign mattress, trying to find any semblance of comfort, and wrestles his phone from the pocket of his tight jeans.

"And hello, owner of the mutt currently drooling on my leg." 

Chris closes his eyes and allows the gentle, rich toned voice to wash over his skin. "Hi."

"How'd it go?"

 _Oh, just fantastic._ "Okay, I guess. No thanks to you, jerk."

"What?! I haven't even left the fucking house, Colfer! What did I do _now_?"

He smirks, rolling over onto his stomach on the bed. "You nearly made me lose it during the Q&A. Well, your name did. Asshole." His voice comes out muffled from where his face is smashed down into the comforter, but clearly Darren is able to make out the words well enough.

"Want to explain that in a little more detail? Just so I'll know whether I need to apologize or not. I'm getting pretty good at it." 

He huffs out a heavy breath into the phone. "It was so stupid. I can't believe I just froze like that. Someone asked what the twins would do if they were looking into the Mirror of Erised. You know, the mirror from Ha-"

"I know what it's from, Chris." The interjection is accompanied by a low chuckle that causes something warm to twist in his belly. He has to swallow hard and blink a few times to clear his head from being distracted.

"Right, yeah. I know you do. Anyway, I was about to answer the question, I had these detailed responses all pre-planned out in my mind, and someone in the audience has to go and scream out 'Ask Darren' and I just went blank for a second. I couldn't move, I couldn't think. I swear, I nearly began stuttering into the mic. Honestly, I wanted to bolt the hell out of there. It took me a minute to realize it was someone saying your name because it was a Potter question, I mean that's probably why, but God, Dare. It was just _fucking_ weird."

"I know, I know it's weird for you." Darren's voice is quiet and sympathetic in his ear, and goes a long way to calm his reaccelerated heartbeat. "But you handled it okay, right? Everything turned out alright?"

"Yeah, I guess it did. People think I'm an awkward spaz half the time anyway."

"And people are right about that."

"Shut it." He smiles and turns his head to the side, drawing in a deep breath. "It was just for a second there, I thought they were asking me... that someone _knew_."

"Knew what?"

It was a leading question if ever there was one. Darren knew damn well what he was asking. 

If Chris looked into the mirror that showed you no more and no less than the deepest, most honest desire rooted deep inside of him, what would he see in the reflection?

A crowded restaurant, in the middle of the week, no calling ahead, no secluded back tables, no worries, no anything. Darren throws his head back and laughs, loudly, obnoxiously, grabbing Chris' hand on top of the table. He doesn’t look around to see if anyone notices, if anyone sees. No one looks twice, there isn't any reason to. No reason at all...

"I..." His mouth goes dry and his voice dries up along with it.

"You?" Darren's voice is teasing like he knows. He probably does.

"Then what would you see in the mirror, wise guy?"

"That's easy. I may or may not have had some variation of this answer ready at hand for over fifteen years." 

Of course he has.

"You ready for this?" Darren asks, sounding like a kid outside the gate to Disneyland.

He rolls his eyes. "Probably not, but tell me anyway."

"You waiting for me naked in my dressing room after my first sold out show at Madison Square Garden, holding a magical, automatically-refilling, endless bag of Doritos."

"Oh, is that all?" He smirks, trying to hold in a laugh.

"Yes, I am a man of simple needs, Christopher."

It really _was_ that simple, for Darren it was. He knew what he wanted, maybe not how to get it, but the man doesn't deny the things he wants most.

"What about you? What would the mirror show you?"

"I'd be in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts, with my clone standing next to me, ready to apparate out and fill in for the rest of these signings. Oh! Or a really convincing robot version of myself. I'm not too picky."

"Nice." Darren's laugh is loud and reminds him of how he sounded in his vision of his perfect world. 

His fingers tense around the phone, the small hunk of metal, plastic, and glass feels sorely lacking and inadequate, when what he needs is a warm, flesh and blood hand to hold onto. "It may not rank up there in mirror territory, but another wish would be to see you."

"You will."

His lips quirk, but the smile is without even an ounce of humor. "I know. I can see you _after_ I get through this last week of promotional things, and then _after_ you spend those few days over in London." Not soon enough, not nearly. "You would think I'd be used to it by now."

Darren is quiet, his voice seeming to come from even further away than before. "Be used to what?"

"All of the afters with us. I can call you after I'm done with something, you can see me after you've gone somewhere. I can only really look at you after we've left the set, you can only touch me after we're home. It's just... a lot more afters than I ever realized." He stares out the window at what should have been an impressive view from the eighth floor hotel room, but with the darkness outside and the light on behind him, all Chris can see is his own reflection. Here and alone.

"Maybe. But what we're doing right now? This is now. We're not waiting on anything, on any kind of time after. I've got to think that is a damn good thing."

Maybe their world wasn't perfect, but they were making steps in the right direction. He needs to try to remember that.

"Have you eaten dinner yet?" Chris asks, sitting up and drawing his knees to his chest.

"Not yet. I was going to just throw together something out of the fridge and spend the night with your DVR."

He smiles at the thought of Darren burrowed down on his couch with the remote in his hand and Brian in his lap. "How about this, while you do that, I'll call and order some ridiculously overpriced dessert from the room service menu, then we fight over what to watch on Netflix? Anything but Harry Potter. What do you think?"

"I think you are a man after my own heart."

It's true, he was.


	38. Dream - Chris and Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just... ugh, it killed me. I promise not to do _this_ to you guys too often.
> 
> "I was sober when I wrote that!"  
> "Desi, if you wrote this while you were sober, I need to beta it while I'm drunk!"
> 
> Thank [Heukii](http://www.heukii.tumblr.com) for bringing Chris' napkin to life. I didn't know if it could be done, but it was amazing. 
> 
> Song used in this chapter "[All In](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DFhq22t5fdc)" by Lifehouse

As soon as the plane touches down on the runway in Los Angeles, Chris wants to go home. Just because he's back in town, doesn't mean that he's free. They land just before midnight, and he has to be at a local television station by 6 A.M. After that comes a webcast and his final book signing the following afternoon. This press tour has felt endless, and even with the end in sight, he still feels the weight of what he has to do hanging over him like a thundercloud. There is a tangible pull inside him, a sharp tug in the direction of his own bed and surroundings, now that he is within range of it. 

The drive across the city seems to take longer than he can ever remember, Alla behind the wheel. They're both road weary and anxious to just set foot in their own homes. Even the idea of five hours of sleep, in the beds they haven't seen for the better part of a month, seems like an unbelievable luxury. They joke back and forth about about how long it will take Brian to forgive the injustice of the extended absence this time, but the conversation is halfhearted, at best. They're tired, having flown in straight from Oregon, visibly weighed down by the knowledge that yet another early morning awaits them both. 

When they turn onto his street, a tingle goes up the back of his neck. Sure, he's missed home, missed his furry children, and his favorite chair, but this feels...

They turn into his driveway and he can't choke down the gasping noise that seizes his chest. Darren's car. But why? _How?_

When the proposition had come up from Darren's team to have him fly back over to London to attend a convention for fans, he had initially wanted to decline. It was Chris who had convinced him to do it. His friends would all be there, it would give him a chance to play a few songs, it was the kind of environment that Darren thrived in. The same kind of event that to Chris, would represent an incarnation of Hell, Dante himself could not have dreamt up. Darren shined in these kinds of situations, and he has been largely silent for most of the summer. If he makes this short trip, it should be enough to keep the powers-that-be happy for a little while, and afford him some peace. If the timing lined up perfectly with the last few days that Chris would be in town to wrap up the end of his promotional tour, well... 

He knew those days would be impossible for him if he were trying to split his attention between work and the scorching distraction Darren represented. It was better that he was away.

Darren is supposed to be gone, flown out earlier that day. So Chris can't help but sit back in the seat and stare wide-eyed at the familiar dark car parked in front of his house.

_How? Why? Why would he do this? Did he just leave the car? Please, please, have just left the car._

As soon as Alla presses her foot down on the brake, they both freeze in place. They both know what that car means, _who_ it means. His eyes flicker helplessly back and forth between the car and his door. Even if his mind still rebels against the knowledge of who is behind that door, some part of him intrinsically knows, and the pull he has felt since the plane landed, throbs within his gut. His hand reaches out for the door handle without his mind consciously telling it to do so.

"Chris." A hand grips onto his forearm tightly. It's a struggle to pull his focus away from the door. Her face is set in a tense line, eyes fixed sternly on his face. "The next few days, they're important. You can't just-"

"I know." He tries, and fails, to keep his eyes on her and not stare at the front door. "It... It will be fine." He hopes his voice sounds more convincing to her than it does in his own head. "I have to go. I'll see you, um..." He licks his lips, suddenly gone dry, and glances again in the direction of the house. "I need to..."

She sighs and lets go of his arm, knowing a total lost cause when she sees one. He is out of the car without another word. His long legs close the distance between himself and the front door in a few strides. She knows God himself could not keep Chris away from that door and whatever potential fallout lay behind it. Because that is what this was, what they were, and had always been to her, a precursor to something disastrous for someone she loves.

"Wait, your bags!" She makes to get out of the car to help Chris retrieve the suitcases that he has been living out of for weeks, from the trunk. 

"I'll get them tomorrow." Chris doesn't even turn around, waving at her from over his shoulder. The dismissal is clear. He doesn't turn to see the worried stare directed at his back, just takes a deep breath, opens the door, and steps inside.

When the door closes behind him, the heavy wave of home that washes over him nearly takes his breath. That, or it might have been the way his heart is beating so violently in his chest. The sound of it is hummingbird fast, and deafening. He just isn't sure. He knows that he feels suddenly desperate and unsteady, that he is _wanting_ with every bone in his body. He just doesn't know if he wants Darren to be here, or prays that he isn't. 

He takes three steps into the entryway, his footsteps seem louder than he can ever recall them being on the hardwood floor. His mind is made up for him when he sees the suitcase and battered guitar case leaning up against the living room wall, and something inside of him _fractures._

\----

He can't even say exactly _why_ he did it. Cancelling his planned flight out to take a very last minute nonstop to London, that leaves at the ass crack of dawn, and would probably make him late getting in to the convention site, was probably one of his most rash and irresponsible ideas to date. It was just the thought of seeing Chris, being able to hold him, smell him, even if for only an hour, it was too much. Darren needs this. It's entirely selfish and he can't be sure of what Chris' reaction will be, but he knows that this is something that he needs, or else he will never be able to get on that plane. 

The last few days have been hard, Darren has felt anxious and restless, like his skin was a size too small. The heavy feeling is only starting to take root in the pit of his stomach, it isn't nearly as bad as it can get, has gotten before. This wasn't how he had felt when he stood outside Chris' front door that Sunday afternoon, aching and empty, half asleep in his life. This wasn't that. Not yet. But even the hint of it, the smallest trace of that feeling, was enough to unnerve him. He has felt it enough over the course of the past four years to know how it starts, and he just... can't. He promised Chris his space, time to breathe and focus on his work, and he'd honored that. Three fucking weeks. That was... 

He needs this, needs just a moment, and he feels like he has goddamn earned it. He has to believe that Chris has missed him just as much, even if it isn't with this gnawing, heart-sore feeling that Darren feels himself when they have been apart for too long. He tells himself this will be amazing, he'll surprise the hell out of Chris, and that it won't blow up in his face.

Chris isn't due to land until around midnight, that would give them a little over three hours. He sits in the most uncomfortable chair in the room, determined to stay awake, and be there to grab the other man in his arms and kiss him stupid when he opens the door. That is the plan... which goes to shit when he falls asleep where he is sitting.

He wakes to the feeling of soft, smooth, dry against his face. His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, but he doesn't open them, and the brushing sensation passes over the skin of his eyelid. Yes, more of this, he likes this. 

The laugh is quiet and the breath warm when it rushes out over his face. "If you're going to fake asleep, you might not want to grin like that. It's sort of a dead give away."

"I can't help it." He tilts his head down, craning his neck at a severe angle to try to find the lips that had just been caressing his face with his own mouth, disappointed when he finds only air below him. 

He opens his eyes to see Chris crouching down on the floor in front of him. Fuck, he looks beautiful. Not having seen his face with his own eyes for weeks, had somehow washed out the image in Darren's mind, had lessened the extent of how Chris affects him. Made his eyes not quite as stunning from where they stare up at him from behind the clear lenses of his glasses. The days making Darren lose the full appreciation of how his jawline is about five miles long. The recollection faded, like his skin was not as pale and inhumanly soft, making Darren forget the exact positioning of each light brown freckle in the constellations across his cheeks and nose. Seeing him again, suddenly near and so up-close, it makes his hands shake and his breath catch. The man is just that _unreal._

Everything was perfect, aside from the fact that those petal-pink lips that had just been tracing over his face, were not smiling. In fact, now that he was able to see past the glaring way that Chris takes his breath away, he can see that he looks troubled. Why would Chris look so sad?

"Hey, what... what's-"

"You aren't supposed to be here." Chris drops his head, hiding his face away, against the rough fabric of Darren's jean-covered thigh. "You can't be here right now. You _can't_."

_What?_

Darren sits stunned and places a confused, shaking hand on Chris' shoulder. He tries to swallow around the panic that tries to scream up out of his throat.

"I'm dreaming. This has to be a dream. Because if it's not, that means that I have to let you go again, and Darren, I _can't_. Right now I just... can't do that." He raises his head and his eyes are wide, open and crystalline blue-green like the color of tropical waters, and they look fucking scared. "So we're dreaming now. Right?"

As if Darren has ever been able to deny him anything. "If you want to be, then we are."

\----

If this is only a dream, then nothing that Chris wants to do really matters. He doesn't have to think twice or worry himself with second guessing anything he wants. He can take Darren's hands and pull him up from the chair without a word, forcefully shove him down onto the couch, and lower his body down on top of him. He doesn't stop to remove his shoes, something he would normally scream at Darren for not doing. He curls his long legs up so that they will both fit, laying down on top of the firm body beneath him, his chest pressed to Darren's stomach, his head fitting itself into the natural cradle of Darren's rising and falling chest, like he had been born just to hold Chris this way. Like their reasons for existing were just to be able to align perfectly like they were, Chris' lower body bracketed between the security of Darren's strong legs. And he allows it, he lets himself just be _held_ , Darren's arms wrapped around him tight, as though Chris is the only thing in the universe that matters. He forces one of his own hands underneath Darren's body, so that he can feel the smooth skin at the small of his back, wriggling his fingers under the cotton t-shirt, until fingertips press into flesh. The combined weight of their bodies would probably make Chris' arm fall asleep, but this isn't the kind of thing you think about in a dream. 

There is a strange vulnerability in just letting yourself be held, in silently burrowing your face into another human being, and matching the patterns of your breathing. Chris lives with so much constant awareness of himself, that it isn't a feeling he is at all familiar with, being so exposed in a moment like this. But right now he is only dreaming, dreaming with Darren, in some fragile time, out of time, and not a trace of self-consciousness touches him here.

In a dream, you can press your lips together, brushing back and forth for long stretches of time that don't even amount to kissing in the literal sense. Drawing a full, pouty lower lip between your own and it holding it there, breathing out against it, making sure that you have filed away the exact size, shape, texture, and taste in enough places in your mind, that even if you never experienced it again, you'd know the feeling forever. In dreams, you can be as decadent and gluttonous as you like, rubbing your face against rough, stubble-sharp skin, until your own is raw and red, and not care. It doesn't matter, you don't think twice. No one ever has to know how much you love the burn.

Minutes become an hour. They just soak up the feel and smell of one another. They don't talk about how much they have missed each other, they don't make up for the time lost, the time will come for that when they are actually reunited. This is a dream, a fantasy born of mutual need, manifested through their bodies. The longer they lay together, the deeper the realization that everything that has happened between them, to them, sinks in. The reminder of what they are, serves as a balm that soothes the cuts and scrapes that they seem to get whenever time and distance separate them. He hopes it will always feel like this, that whenever he has been worn down to nothing, all it will take is laying down against Darren's body, and he can be recharged like a battery, renewed and able to work again. 

"Chris?" Darren's voice sounds loud after all of the silence has been wrapped around them, even though it is barely more than a sleepy sounding murmur. 

"Yeah?" 

Darren’s hand never ceases in brushing up and down the length of Chris' arm, slowly petting him like a cat. Chris doesn't know when Darren even started doing it, but he kind of wants to arch up into the touch, and for it to never stop. 

"If you don't want me to fall asleep while I'm supposed to be dreaming, you better keep me entertained." Darren yawns.

He grins and folds his arms on top of Darren's firm, broad chest, he lays his chin on them, and looks down at the other man as he lays blinking up at him drowsily. "Fine, then you have to tell me a secret. Something that you have never told me before." It's a challenge and he knows it. There isn't much about one another that they don't already know. 

Darren's lips purse together as he thinks. Chris can almost see the gears and wheels turning in his mind. "I can say the names of all fifty states, in alphabetical order, in under 30 seconds, in one breath."

Chris snorts. Whatever his sleepy brain had been imagining, it certainly wasn't _that_. "You can what?"

Darren's handsome, stupid face is smug at having surprised him. "You heard me."

"Liar."

He quirks one dark eyebrow at the blatant challenge. This would not stand. "Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii..."

Chris' mouth drops open in shock somewhere around Delaware, and by the time Darren reaches Nebraska, he is snorting down into his folded arms. He grabs a pillow, yanking it out from underneath Darren's body, and presses it down over his face. It does nothing to stop the speed-talking recitation. Darren just carries on to the end, mumbling the words up into the pillow over his head.

"...West Virginia, Wisconsin, Wyoming." He pulls the pillow from over his face, with a triumphant little grin. His chest rises and falls hard, as he breathes through the exertion. 

"That," Chris hangs his head, shoulders shaking as he laughs, "has got to be the dorkiest thing I have ever seen you do. And that is really saying something."

"You're impressed as fuck, and you know it. Don't even try to front, Colfer."

He kind of was, but he just smirks and snatches the pillow from Darren's hand, smacking him with it hard again. 

"Ow!" 

_Thwack._

"This is domestic abuse!" Darren raises his arms to try to shield his face from the blows.

Chris stills from where he is now kneeling above him, straddling Darren's body on the limited space of the couch. He has the pillow swung back behind him, ready to let it come down again, when he stops. "We are domestic now?"

"We kind of are." Darren shrugs up at him. His hair is a frizzed-out mess of curls, his red lips pulled into a sleepy-soft smile, wide, golden-green eyes puffy from lack of sleep, but are staring up at Chris like he is the only person that exists at this moment. Darren has always made him feel that way, like when he is with him, Darren's world narrows down and simply is nothing else. There was a time the feeling frightened him, it doesn't anymore. "Your turn. Tell me a secret." 

And that is another great thing about dreams, they allow you to get rid of the things that are clouding up your subconscious. You can say things and do things that you are too afraid to do in the waking world. You can unburden yourself from their weight, and you can be free.

"I wasn't always... kind to you. We got mad at each other, angry as hell at the situation we were in, frustrated, but you were never _mean_. You never set out intentionally to hurt me, but I tried to hurt you." He can't bring himself to look at Darren now, fixes his eyes on a framed poster hanging on the wall behind them instead, even as he uses the feeling of the solid body below him to ground himself and give him the strength to continue. "Everything was just so fucking unfair. I wanted to be with you and I couldn't, not like I wanted to be, but I still had to be near you every single day. It sucked, Dare. I didn't know how to handle it, how to handle being around you. I didn't like how it felt knowing how easily you _could_ hurt me, even though you weren't trying to. So I just... struck first. I'd bring guys around on purpose, make sure you knew about it. At parties, at events, I'd kiss someone and my eyes would always try to find you across the room. I saw what that did to you. It killed you, every time. I wanted you to feel that way. It wasn't just jealousy, I wanted you to _hurt_. I took everything out on you for a long time." He closes his eyes, blocking out the image of James Dean, and Darren's heartbroken look from back then. The look he would see when Chris would wrap his arms around the waist of another man, and meet those devastated eyes that haunted him awake or asleep over the inconsequential guy's shoulder when they danced. He had let his fear over the things Darren made him feel, hold him back for a long time, so many wasted days that he would give anything to get back. "And then you would just show back up, at my trailer on set, or at my house, or talk me into meeting you somewhere, and we would just snap back together like magnets. You knew it was always you I wanted, but you never called me out on the bullshit I would pull. You never even asked. We would just step back into this spot that was supposed to be for each other, back into place, and that was that. Well, that was that until the next time we would fight, and I would run away, and the vicious cycle reset itself for the next go round. I wish I could just rewind time and take it all back."

But he can't. Time doesn't work that way. He goes quiet, still facing the wall. 

"Chris, you were in that position in the first place because of me and the things I had to do. It shouldn't have ever been like that." When he doesn't move, Darren's hand reaches and grips the back of his neck tightly, forcing his head up, and their eyes back together, from where Chris has been avoiding that liquid gold stare. "Look at me." 

It's rhetorical, with the way Darren is holding his head and where they lay, he can't exactly do anything else. 

"Everything that happened between us was intense, it hit us like a freight train. I don't blame you for not always knowing how to handle that. You think I did? We have both made a lot of fucking mistakes, Angel. But I don't regret a single thing, I can't, if it brought us to where are are now. I wouldn't rewrite one damn day, because if I did, it might change this." He pulls Chris' face closer, his forehead colliding with and staying pressed up against, the scruff-covered side of Darren's jaw. "Nothing would be worth fucking up what we have right here. We aren't the same dumb kids anymore. Now we are older, wiser dumb kids. We learned from all that shit, we will keep learning, it's what you have to do. C'mon, don't tear yourself up over things that you can't go back and change."

Chris wraps his arm tightly around him, still unable to fully forgive his younger self for being such a coward where Darren was concerned. For denying them both what they needed for such a long time, for denying them _this_. "You make that sound easy."

"It is. You love me back, I get to wake up knowing that, and it is so much more than all of the past shit combined could ever be. I happen to think it was all worth it."

He exhales the tightness in his chest into Darren's hair. "This is heavy talk for a dream. Can we go back to you reciting states again?"

Darren turns his head to look at him. His eyes are gentle, they are sure. "Alabama, Alaska, Arizo-"

"Oh God, I was kidding. No, shut up!" Chris rolls over to grab the pillow from the floor where it had fallen. 

Darren sits up, nearly knocking Chris down onto the floor instead. "Fine." He looks over at Chris smirking, his gaze still thoughtful and warm. "I have one, too."

Chris flops back down onto the couch beside him. He does feel lighter after getting the weight of that confession off his chest. It has been sitting inside him like a stone for a long time now. "Have what?"

"Something that I have never told you." 

That brings him up short. "Okay?" He can't even begin to imagine what Darren is going to say. He tries to clear his mind and prepare himself for anything.

As it turns out, Darren doesn't say anything at all. He looks at Chris for a stretched out moment, hazel-gold locked onto curious blue, and then he reaches behind him and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. Chris watches, confused, as he opens his wallet and takes out something small and white. He unfolds the... whatever it is. Darren's hands move over the small, worn piece of paper, smoothing it out on the coffee table. He handles it delicately, as if it was something precious to him, something important. It looks like a paper napkin, old and creased with something written on it in black ink. Chris doesn't need to read whatever it says to recognize the handwriting. It's his. 

A sketch of the rough outline of a man standing in some kind of doorway, he is blurry looking, like he was something not fully formed. Underneath are the words "He is what is left when the camera flash ends" both drawn and clearly written by his own hand.

Chris doesn't remember writing it. "What is this?" He turns and looks at Darren, who has leaned back on the couch, eyes closed and looking like he was far away.

\----

_He can remember it clearly, in every vivid detail. The sun shining down on them where they sat, eating lunch behind the studio lot. The way the wind blew hard, nearly swept their food and soda cans from the top of the picnic table, but not moving a single strand of their hair as styled as it was, and glued into submission. How Chris' eyes were such a brighter color than the cloudless March sky, and Darren hadn't been able to look away. He hadn't known it then, but he would never be able to look away again. At least, he wouldn't want to._

_He didn't understand what it was about this guy that fascinated him so much. From the moment they met, Chris had just seemed like someone that Darren wanted to be around. He was funny, smart as fuck, creative, gorgeous. They spent most of their time on set together, and an ever-increasing amount of time off, too. Chris fascinated him, drew him in, and he was never someone who fought too hard to control his own impulses._

_So he just went with it. He let himself be mesmerized by his friend, a friend he knew he wanted to possibly be more than just a friend. That's why he'd kissed him after all. They didn't talk about it, just accepted it for the moment that it was. He knew Chris wasn't as free with his affections as he had always been, but he seemed to open up around Darren, and for that, he could only count himself lucky._

_Chris was telling him this story he was plotting out in his head. A world within the world where there were beings made of only lights and shadows, created and left to wander the earth until they found the source of their creation, the person or thing that brought them to life. He'd been looking down, doodling away on a napkin after he finished eating, musing out loud about his made up world. Darren was only just now starting to suspect how hard he was falling hard for this guy._

_Someone from the crew yelled for them to get their asses back on set._

_Chris looked up, stunned for a moment, blinking rapidly, at being torn so rudely out of the world he'd sunk into. His cheeks pinked, embarrassed about how long he had carried on in front of Darren. He had no idea that the man sitting across the table from him would have been perfectly content to sit there and listen to Chris forever._

_"Duty calls." Chris handed Darren his pen back, the one he kept stuck into the spiral of the worn notebook he carried around to jot lyrics down. They both started gathering up their trash from lunch, wadded up napkins, empty cans and sandwich containers._

_"Chris! They need you back in makeup!" A voice shouted again from behind them._

_"Hey, I've got it." He reaches out and takes the trash from Chris' hands with a smile. "Get back before you turn into a pumpkin."_

_Chris had given him a funny little salute and turned and jogged off without a word. The napkin he'd been drawing on, crumpled up on top of an empty Diet Coke can, drew Darren's eye._

He still isn't sure what made him slip it into the pocket of Blaine's uniform pants, or why he'd tucked it into the cover of his notebook before leaving the set for the day. It was just something about throwing away even a tiny piece of who Chris was, it didn't sit right with him. Not even then. 

"It hung out in my glove compartment for a while, and I found it in there one day. It was not long after we first really started fooling around, and I was already knocked onto my ass crazy about you by then. And, I don't know, I just kept it. It's lived in my wallet pretty much ever since. I've had this little part of you that I got to take with me wherever I went." He shakes his head and looks over at Chris who is still staring down at the napkin, confused.

"I don't even remember doing this."

He isn't surprised. Chris' mind is constantly churning, creating, making beauty out of nothing. Something that felt so precious and personal to Darren, was just another doodle to him. A way to pass an average lunch break. "It was like you knew somehow, even though most of the bullshit hadn't even started yet. It was like you knew and you were talking about me. Dumb, right?"

Chris' eyes were studying him closely, making Darren suddenly feel smaller. Darren would never stop wondering, wishing, he knew what he looked like in those eyes.

"No, not dumb." 

"Well yeah, dumb was the night I got plastered and stumbled into a tattoo parlor in downtown L.A., and whipped it out and asked the guy to tattoo it on my back." He admitted, laughing darkly.

"You did what?"

He shrugs, picking the napkin up and looking at the words closer like he must have done a few hundred times. "We weren't getting along. You had just told me that you wanted me to back the fuck off, that you needed more stability. And I got that, I didn't blame you or anything. It was me that I hated. I got trashed and just... I don't even know, babe. I guess I thought it would keep you with me. Drunk logic. Anyway, I was lucky. I just so happened to walk into the one tattoo place where the manager has a 'no getting inked when you are too fucked up to sign your own name' policy. I think that is the only time I've ever shown it to anyone." He looks from the napkin to Chris, who is still watching him closely. "Good thing, too. It would have been a bitch to explain to wardrobe why I have your handwriting tattooed onto my back."

Chris takes the napkin from his hand and tosses it carelessly back onto the coffee table. "You are so much more than that."

Darren doesn't know exactly what he means by "that", but he doesn't ask. He just goes when Chris places both hands on his chest and pushes him to lie back down, and leans down to kiss him again.

\----

"I've missed your chin." He thumbs across the bump of Darren's chin, from his fat, kiss-swollen bottom lip, all the way down the rise of the prominent adam's apple in his throat. The bristly, short black hairs, scrape over the whirls of his fingerprint, tickling the skin.

"That's... _interesting_. And weird. Mainly weird, though."

"I don't get to see you without a beard when we aren't working, and then you don't look like you. You have a cute chin."

"Yours is a lot better than mine." Darren lifts up on his elbows and kisses the slight indention of Chris' own chin that he knows Chris hates, while his lips and even the tip of his tongue brush the rarely touched area of his body softly, until Chris shoves him away.

"You'd better be glad this is just a dream and we won't remember this in the morning." Chris smirks down at him. 

_Fuck him and his fucking magical eyelashes._

"And this stimulating, intellectual conversation brings us to the point of the evening where you need to go dream in your bed for a little while. And I just need to..."

_Go._

Darren doesn't say it, but they can both hear the word echo around in their heads. 

Chris isn't ready yet. As much as he wants to tell himself that this is all a dream, to make it easier to carry on through the next few days like nothing has ever happened, he just isn't ready to miss him again, yet. 

Even as Chris clutches his fingers into the soft material of Darren's t-shirt, the other man is sitting up and stretching his arms and legs with a low groan. Neither of them have slept at all, and now Chris has a busy day of book stuff ahead, and Darren has to board a transatlantic flight. Well, at least one of them would get some sleep. 

"Okay, Daydream Believer. Let's go tuck you into bed." Darren slips down off the couch, kneeling down at Chris' feet like they really were Princes in a fairytale dream. He lifts one foot, propping it up on his knee, and begins to pluck at the shoelaces of one of the sneakers Chris had never bothered to remove.

But this is Chris' dream, and if it has to end, it is going to be on _his_ terms. He moves his foot up to the middle of Darren's chest, forcing him back and away from him. "Do I look like Cinderella to you?" 

Darren blinks up at him, from where he was now sprawled on his ass on the living room floor. "But, I... airport..."

"Yes, and I'm driving you." He is already retying his shoe, looking over at Darren with a small smile. 

"You need to sleep."

"And you need to hurry, or you'll miss your flight." Chris holds his hands out to where Darren sits on the floor, pulling him back up to his feet. "Keys?"

Darren sighs, but hands them over without further complaint, earning him a soft peck on the cheek.

Chris teases about having to slide the seat back before he is able to drive Darren's car, his legs are just so much longer. Neither of them say much on the drive through the nearly deserted streets, not many people on the road at 3:14 in the morning, not even in Los Angeles. Their hands linked together on top of the gear shift.

Darren sings along quietly to whatever is playing on his iPod that he has plugged into the stereo in the car.

_"As you sleep, I'll just follow your door light..."_

"That doesn't even make any sense."

"Your face doesn't make any sense. And I mean that in the best way possible." Darren grins over at him, his eyes all warm coffee with just the right amount of milk even in the dark.

Chris' hand tenses around the wheel when they approach the exit for L.A.X.

Not enough time. _Notenoughnotenoughnotenough._

He tries to keep his voice even and reaches out to turn down the radio. "You going to stay at the apartment over there?"

"Yeah, planned on it. I like it there."

 _Me too._ It just might be his favorite place, in his favorite city in the world. "Wish I was going with you." He doesn't even mean to say it out loud.

Darren's fingers tighten around his, squeezing hard and not releasing. "Are you saying that as _you_ you or dream metaphorical you?"

"Does it matter?" He smirks, eyes now locked on the wide, winding turn-in for the airport.

"It might."

Chris ignores him, concentrating on following the navigational signs to find the right airline check-in terminal. That, and trying not to let on, that there is suddenly an annoying thickness in his throat. Darren's fingers don't relax their stranglehold on his hand until they pull up to the passenger drop-off area. Chris puts the car into park and slowly looks up. They've made it with just enough time for Darren to check in and make it to the gate to wait for his 5 A.M. flight.

"If you g-go now you might have enough time to grab a cup of coffee." He tells him, taking in a trembly breath that makes him want to kick himself. 

"Screw the coffee." Darren unbuckles his seatbelt, and leans up and across the car, sitting partially on the console and partially in Chris' lap. Darren winds his fingers into Chris' hair and brings his mouth down upon his. The kiss isn't tender or sleepy like the rest of them have been tonight, Darren dives in and attacks him, all tongue and biting teeth. Chris whimpers through his nose, letting himself sink down into the driver's seat and be properly kissed for the first time in three weeks. Darren's wet, wide tongue sweeps into his mouth and curls around his own, slick and hot. Chris grabs onto the door with one hand and Darren's neck with the other. The way he tastes makes his head spin as his body begins to scream out for oxygen. He ignores the burn, fuck breathing, and clutches Darren tighter. How has he lived this long without this _taste_?

Darren pulls away with a gasp. Their chins are wet, and Chris' lips feel numb. They both pant for air in the close, dark space of the car. Chris can't tear his eyes away from Darren's, from the way they are suddenly blown out and dark. He knows they're in public, this isn't safe. The windows are tinted and there are no other cars directly in front of them, but if anyone were to walk by...

He loses the thought when he leans in and captures Darren's upper lip between his again.

"It's been a pleasure dreaming with you tonight." Darren's voice is rough and the sound of it clues Chris in to the fact that he isn't the only one getting half-hard in his pants.

"We'll have to do it again sometime."

"Shit, yeah we will." They both smile and lean towards one another for another kiss, breaking off when a car pulls up to the curb just behind them, illuminating their profiles in the headlights. Darren groans and knocks their foreheads a little too roughly, grinding them there for a moment, before falling back into the passenger seat. He looks across at Chris with so much left unspoken. "Soon, okay?"

He nods mutely, not trusting himself to say anything. 

Darren purses his lips, forcing them to twitch up at the corners into something that might loosely resemble a smile. He breathes out through his nose, opens the car door, and steps out without another word.

_Not soon enough._

Chris watches him through the mirrors as he pulls his luggage from the trunk of the car, and places it on the sidewalk. He turns and looks at Chris through the windshield, holding his eyes for a full minute. 

Chris knows Darren won't be the first one to look away. It may be one of the hardest things he has ever had to do, but he forces himself to look away and lift his hand from his lap to the keys dangling from the ignition. He starts up the car and looks back over at Darren. He sees him from behind, as the sliding doors close behind him.

Chris doesn't even make it off the airport grounds before the sudden wave of weariness hits him. Without Darren to provide an endless source of energy and light, he can now feel the sleepless night come crashing down over him like a wave of sand. He turns the music back on just to have the noise to try to keep himself awake. If he wrecks this stupid car, Darren probably won't be too happy with him.

_All night staring at the ceiling_  
 _Counting the minutes I've been feeling this way_  
 _So far away and so alone_

_But you know it's alright_  
 _I came to my senses_  
 _Letting go of my defenses_  
 _There's no way I'm giving up this time_  
 _Yeah, you know I'm right here_  
 _I'm not losing you this time_

Leave it to Darren to inadvertently provide him with a song at a time like this. He rolls his eyes, and turns the volume up louder.

_And I'm all in, nothing left to hide_  
 _I've fallen harder than a landslide_  
 _I spent a week away from you last night_  
 _And now I'm calling, calling out your name_  
 _Even if I lose the game, I'm all in, I'm all in tonight_  
 _Yeah I'm all in, I'm all in for life_

_There's no taking back_  
 _What we've got's too strong,_  
 _We've had each other's back for too long_  
 _There's no breaking up this time_

_And you know it's okay, I came to my senses_  
 _Letting go of my defenses_  
 _There's no way I'm giving up this time..._

He is humming along with the second chorus when his phone vibrates as he waits at the traffic light to turn back out onto the freeway. He pulls it from the back pocket of his jeans with a sigh, sure it's Alla making sure he is on task, and getting ready for his morning show appearance in a couple of hours. 

It's not her. 

**Check your email in ten minutes. No, check when you're home. Yeah. Why are you even texting and driving, Colfer? Eyes on the road!**

**...and I love you.**


	39. Ticket - Chris and Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update is a few hours late due to babysitting and betas who giggle and laugh like twelve year olds. 
> 
> Actual conversation:
> 
> "Wait, _who_ has an erection?"  
>  "Probably both of them by now."  
> "No! I need to know whose dick we're talking about here!"

Forty minutes after dropping Darren off at the airport, Chris is trudging back through his front door. He is ready to just fall down and sleep for a week, but that's not a possibility. He has a morning show appearance in just a couple of hours, followed by his big webcast later that day. As good as taking a twelve hour nap sounds, the best he can hope for is a hot shower and a few cans of caffeinated goodness to help him survive the day. He sits down on the couch where he and Darren had laid together only an hour ago, and pulls up his email account on his phone.

He probably should have expected this. A one way ticket to London for Monday evening. He sighs and shakes his head. As usual, Darren's heart is in the right place, but who knows where his head and common sense were located. He must have forgotten to pack those. Chris sighs softly and presses the button.

"Don't say no."

He rubs his tired eyes and lets his head fall down against the back of the couch. "You should have asked me first, Darren. I can't go. I've been gone for weeks, the book just came out, and I have Brian and Cooper..."

"Who can survive another week without you, I can't." The response is immediate and certain. 

"It's not that I don't want to go. I want to, but I can't just step out of my life and run off like this." _Again._ He would love to spend a few days tucked away with Darren where no one could find them after the insanity of the book tour. He's missed him so much, it is like a physical thing that sits in his field of vision, never out of sight or out of mind. He just can't live a life steered by whims and impulses like this.

He hears Darren sigh into the phone. "Think about what you just said. Your life, _yours._ Live it, come live it with me. It's only a week, Chris." 

"Dare..." He bites down on his bottom lip sharply to keep himself from agreeing, if only to quiet the pleading he hears in Darren's voice. It really would be amazing to get away for a few days, and England was most certainly _away_ , but...

_But what?_

"Listen, just think it over. I'm there until Tuesday at least. It would be awesome to spend a few days with you. I mean, it's kind of our place now, and I know how much you love the city. If you don't want to come, fine. I'll fly home and we can just hang out there. I just really want to be with you for a while. We've earned the right to be a little fucking selfish. The ticket is yours either way."

He swallows down the urge to just agree. "I'll think about it," he promises quietly, wrapping his fingers around the edge of the pillow Darren had laid on just a short time ago.

"Great, that's all I ask." 

He hears the sound of pre-boarding calls ring out from behind Darren in the airport.

"Guess that's you. Just... have a safe flight. Call me when you land?"

"Yeah. Don't overdo it today, I know you're beyond exhausted. I'll talk to you soon."

"Bye, Darren."

"Think hard! Say yes!" The call disconnects, and Chris shakes his head with a grin. Insufferable.

He forces himself to his feet, and goes through the motions necessary to shower and get himself ready for the television appearance, mentally drafting what he would tell Alla when he breaks the news that he is taking a little getaway.

\----

It's so stupid. He knows this is his own fault, he didn't think before making the joke when he was filling out his travel forms that morning, but shit. Who actually gets detained by customs officials at the freaking airport? It's not like he is trying to smuggle illegal materials into the country.

Darren calls ahead to let his contact representative at the convention know that he's run into a bit of a snag, but landed at Heathrow in one piece, and will make it to the hotel as soon as he can. He has been asked to wait on an uncomfortable bench outside the customs office, while they confirm his identity and credentials. Thank fuck he made this trip alone. If his manager was with him, he would never hear the end of this one.

He texts Joey and Dylan to let them know what is going on, and decides to watch Chris' webcast that he'd missed while in the air. He is tired, grumpy, and his ass is numb from sitting on the hard, metal bench, and seeing that smiling face seems like it is as good a distraction as anything else he can think of. Chris is never more beautiful than when he is talking about things he is as passionate about as his books. It makes Darren feel proud and he tries to cross his toes inside his shoes that Chris will agree to fly over here so that they can steal a few days together between his crazy schedule and obligations.

He watches Chris field questions about the book from people all over the world, drinking in the sound of his voice and his laugh. When he gets to the question about the specific character and who should play him in a movie adaptation, he scoffs. Oh, Hell no.

He smirks and opens up a new message on the phone.

Darren's bottom lip pokes out into a pout. That wasn't what he wanted to hear at all. Considering that he answered his texts immediately, he knows Chris has his phone on him. They need to have words.

\----

He is still grinning to himself about Darren's ridiculous messages, only half listening to Alla going on about details for tomorrow's signing, when the Facetime call notification pops up onto the screen of his phone. There's no doubt who it could be. 

"Be right back." Without giving her much of a chance to object, he gets up and walks out into the hall of the office building in which they have rented space to serve as headquarters for his literary projects. It feels good to have a place outside his own home to work out of when he needs to do things like this. Cooper follows him out into the hall, and settles by Chris' feet.

His laugh echoes through the deserted hallway when he accepts the call and sees Darren's face on the screen.

"Something I can help you with?"

The picture is pixelated, and there is a slight delay when he watches Darren's chest heave with a sigh and look at him with heartbroken, puppy dog eyes that strongly rival those of the actual puppy sitting at his feet.

"Oh stop it, dummy. You know I was screwing with you."

"It had better be me you are screwing with, _only_ me."

He rolls his eyes and smirks into the camera on his phone. "You're an idiot, but clearly an idiot who has landed. Are you at the hotel already?"

"Not... exactly." Darren's expression twists into a look of displeasure.

"Okay, that can't be good. What's going on? Where are you?"

He watches as Darren sighs again, and then launches into the story of how he has been detained at the airport in London because he somehow thought it would be a good idea to make a joke out of his reason for visiting the United Kingdom. Instead of just writing “business” in the box, like any sane person would, the genius decided to list himself as a “street musician”. Now he was being forced to wait at the international customs office for the proper security clearance.

Chris tries not to laugh, really he does. But it's one of those situations that is so uniquely _Darren_ that he just can't keep a stupid grin off his face, even as he listens to Darren gripe about how he had lost all feeling in his ass nearly an hour ago.

"Serves you right," he finally snickers when the other man finishes complaining.

"Your sympathy just astounds me, Colfer." Darren tries to keep a straight face of his own, but he has never been able to not smile when Chris himself is laughing. 

"Just do me one favor," he asks him, reaching down with one hand to scratch at Cooper's ears. He was spending time with the pet who _didn't_ hold grudges.

"What's that?"

His eyes soften along with his tone, when he looks at Darren's face on his phone's screen. "Try not to get yourself deported in the next three days. I'd hate to fly all the way over there, and then have to spend the next six days alone."

Darren's smile when the words register in his head is bright enough to be seen from an ocean away. 

\----

He doesn't get to the hotel where the convention is being held until almost ten. He knows that people have been waiting to see him, have actually paid money to see him, and the fact that he is late all because he was being a dumbass, makes him feel like shit. He lets one of the guys in charge of running the convention know that if anyone wants to sit down and talk to him, he is willing to hang out and meet all of the fans who have been kept waiting.

He doesn't know that it means that two hundred and fifty people will pack themselves into a hotel ballroom within minutes, but he tramps down his exhaustion, and pastes a smile onto his face. He likes meeting fans, he likes the energy and their excitement. It's infectious, and lifts his mood quickly. Everyone has a different story to tell and he always makes it a point to make every one of them feel as appreciated as he is for their support of him. Sure, there are always a few whack jobs out there, but for the most part he has always found his fans to be sweet and just generally friendly people. 

He makes it through a few... awkward moments in which he has to lie through his teeth, and sidestep around verbal landmines, but it's a song and dance he is quite used to performing. He can't blame anything other than mental fatigue when one fan presents him with a book of fan-drawn artwork of the characters on the show, and the first thing out of his mouth is to ask if there is any sex in it. It's not his fault! It's been three fucking _weeks_ , you can't present him with pictures of Chris' abs, even drawn ones, and not expect his mind to go to the naughty place. He knows before he even moves on to greet the next table of fans, that he is going to be hearing about this one.

After a couple of hours hanging out with people in the ballroom, all Darren wants is to get in a cab, get to the apartment, and pass out. He tries to tell his friends who have all already been in London for over a full day as much, but they're not having it. He is eventually talked into joining everyone at a pub near the hotel for a few drinks.

As he walks into the dimly lit pub and is greeted with a resounding chorus of "Daisy" and "about fucking time" and "where the hell have you beens", he smiles. Some things never change.

\----

It's well after two in the morning when the taxi drops him off outside his parents' place in Bayswater. Even though he had slept a little on the plane, his body and mind both still feel wrung out and in a foggy state of over-exhaustion from the night before. Dozing off while sitting straight up in the seat on a flight, isn't exactly conducive to restful sleep. Booking at the last minute like he had, meant he'd been forced to take an aisle seat, and he had jolted awake every time the flight attendants walked past him. The mere thought of stretching out on a mattress sounds like heaven. Hell, it doesn't even have to be a mattress, right now, any flat, unmoving surface will do. His suitcase feels like it has somehow tripled in weight as he drags it behind him through the low, iron gate and up the front walk to the brightly painted front door. He fishes the keys from his bag, unlocks the door, and lets himself inside. 

Without consciously acknowledging it, this place has stopped feeling like it belongs to his mom and dad. Partially because he is convinced that they have not actually been there in over two years, but it has a whole lot more to do with the fact that everything he sees, reminds him of Chris. This places holds misty images, ghosts, of the two of them letting their walls down enough to love and enjoy one another without fear or restraint. They were half a world away from everything that represented the multitude of reasons that being together would never be as easy and simple as his heart told him it should be, when they were here. This was _their_ place now, their own secret sanctuary. And the thought that in three days time Chris would join him here again... it doubled the tempo of his heart, beating away in his chest.

"Hello, chair. Hello, ugly painting Mom picked out." He wheels his suitcase behind him down the short hallway, and into the bedroom. Flicking on the light, his eyes land on the neatly made, queen sized bed, and he groans loudly. "And hello to you, beautiful." He leaves his bag by the door and falls facedown on the mattress, letting his body sink into the blissful softness. If he puckers his lips and gives the pale gold bedspread a kiss, there is no one around to know. He gives himself a few minutes to let the tension in his muscles bleed out. He has been in near constant motion for almost thirty-six hours and his body is feeling the full effects.

Eventually, he draws up enough resolve from within himself to sit up, pull off his shoes and clothes, and turn off the light. He collapses back onto the bed and closes his eyes for only seconds before a slow smile spreads across his face. He groans out his body's reluctance to move as he bends over and reaches for the jeans he left on the floor beside the bed, and grabs his phone from the pocket. The battery is getting low, as usually seems to be the case, and he will need to unpack his adapter and charger to keep it from going dead, but that shit can wait. He unlocks the phone and places a call. It takes the satellites only seconds to route his call across an entire ocean as it begins to ring.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end is sleep-scratchy and quiet.

"Did I wake you up? Sorry."

He can hear the smile in Chris' voice. "Why don't I believe you're actually sorry for waking me up?"

"I am! I value a man's rest. In fact, I need sleep so badly that I just made out with a queen sized mattress."

"Mmm, lucky mattress." Chris still sounds dazed and half asleep. "It's late there. Everything okay?"

He lays back with one arm behind his head. "Yeah, just feels kinda weird to be here without you. I'm already lonely."

"I'll be there soon."

"Promise?"

There is the sound of rustling like Chris was waking up more and sitting up in bed. "I told you I was coming, I wouldn't take that back. Why would you need me to promise?"

"I just like hearing it."

"Three days, Darren. I'll be there in three days, and then I'm all yours for a week."

Even the words warm him and send a tingle racing through his body. "Good." He reaches behind him, and shoves a pillow more comfortably behind his head. "What time is your family getting in tomorrow?"

"I'll meet them at their hotel early, and we can go get lunch before we head over to the Grove. Honestly, I just want to get this over with." Despite having just been woken up, Chris sounds as exhausted as Darren feels.

"Tell Hannah she is still my favorite person ever."

"I thought _I_ was your favorite person?"

"Well, you are sometimes, but it's stiff competition." Darren grins up at the ceiling with a yawn.

"You wound me. But I'll tell her." Chris chuckles quietly as he hears Darren yawn into the phone. "You should sleep."

"I know. I'm so fucking done. I kinda want to jerk off, but my hand is too tired to search for my dick."

Chris' surprised laugh rings in Darren's ear and spreads warmth throughout his body. "Poor thing."

"And I'm a little fuzzy from lack of sleep-"

Chris cuts him off. "You are always fuzzy." 

_Smartass._ "...but I think I might have asked fans to give me porn?"

That earns him a loud snort. "You did _what_?"

"I'll expl..." He loses his train out thought momentarily over another deep yawn. "Explain later."

They both go quiet for a minute, and Darren feels himself begin to drift.

"Dare?"

"Hmm?"

"Still with me?"

Kind of. "Yeah, babe. Always with you."

"What you said before, about jerking off..." 

That catches his attention, pulling him a few inches back towards consciousness. "Yeah?" Tired as he is, he likes the direction the conversation is taking. His soft cock does, in any case, twitching weakly against the crease of his thigh.

"Can you wait?"

_Um, what?_ His eyes blink open. "Wait?"

Chris draws in an uneven breath through the phone that he can almost _feel_. "Can you wait until I get there?"

Darren hasn't felt Chris' touch on his body in over three weeks, and although he has gotten himself off plenty of times since then, it's never the same. And while his body is worn out, and exhausted, suddenly the mere mention of touching himself has the blood in his body all rushing to the direction of his dick, making it thicken and heat up. "Um..." He licks his lips and breathes out through his nose. "Do I have to?"

"No... But I would really like it if you did."

_Fuck._

If he wasn't particularly turned on before, he certainly is now. The fingers of his free hand spasm where they lay lax beside him on the bed, and he has to fight the impulse to move them down to his rapidly hardening cock. "You are fucking _mean_."

"I'm not." Chris' voice has taken on the thick, breathy quality that it does when he is aroused, and it makes Darren throb sharply. "If I were being mean, I would tell you that I want you to wait for me, save it all up, so that I can take you into my mouth as soon as I get there, and let you watch me drink down every drop."

The moan Chris' words draw out from deep down inside of Darren, is pitiful even to his own ears. "Oh you twisted little bastard." His erection now swells up, pointing away from his body, untouched.

He hears it when Chris swallows and exhales hard into the phone. "Will you, Darren? Please?" The soft plea in his voice makes Darren's toes clench into the blanket.

He knows this game. It's not one they've played in quite a while, but his head almost swims with how fast and hard the heat races through his veins and settles in his balls. "You are going to go jerk off, aren't you?"

"Probably." Chris confirms breathlessly.

"But you don't want me to." It isn't a question. 

Chris know he has him when Darren groans quietly into the phone. Darren can clearly imagine the red-cheeked, bright eyed grin on his face. 

"You don't have to listen to me, but I wish you would."

Darren rolls onto his side, careful not to disturb the heavy erection that he knows he will ignore until it wilts away against his leg. He sighs and clutches the phone tighter. "Hate you so damn much."

"Mmm, I know. I love you, too. Want me to stay on the phone until you're ready to go to sleep?"

"Don't you have _things_ to do?" He asks with a smirk, already trying to ignore the twisting in his body that ached for touch.

"It can wait a minute." 

"Read to me?" He likes the thought of Chris sitting up in his bed, grabbing his glasses, and whatever book is sitting on his nightstand, to help soothe him to sleep.

"I can do that."


	40. Date - Darren and Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff and feels for our favorite boys.
> 
> Zinnia: "I keep putting it in and you keep takng it out."  
> Lynne: "We're playing the adult hokey pokey!"  
> Zinnia: "Screw you, Desi. Your chapter made us do the adult hokey pokey!"

Why do people have friends? Friends are bad. Friends are very, very bad and mean when they are trying to drag you out of your warm, perfectly comfortable bed, hours before you’re due to report in at the hotel for your events at the convention. After only five hours of sleep, too, that just isn't right. Can't those idiots do something as simple as go to get food by themselves? Do they really need (admittedly younger than most of them) adult supervision? Really? Assholes.

Darren is feeling marginally more human by the time he meets his friends for brunch an hour later, even if it feels like he left a good portion of his brain cells back at the apartment on his pillow. He moves half in a fog. Everyone seems to be in a great mood, but that doesn't surprise him. This particular group of guys usually are, whenever they have a chance to get together. Even without any of the girls to both temper and encourage the idiotic crude conversation, it doesn't take him long to catch up, and rush in headlong. Talking over one another in a ceaseless battle to monopolize the conversation was the norm for this bunch, and he likes to think that he still holds the gold medal. 

He catches one of his friends giving him a few long looks, uncharacteristically quiet this morning. It puzzles him briefly, but the thought is quickly driven away when Joey insults his frankly impeccable British accent and throws a piece of toast crust at his head.

"Let's hear you do any better than that." The challenge is not even fully issued before it is enthusiastically accepted.

_He's right. You sound like a reject from a bad Monty Python episode._

When in the hell did the self-deprecating voice in the back of his mind, start to sound suspiciously like Chris? Not that he is especially surprised, he has long suspected that the wiring in his brain is more than a little off. He just can't remember that ever happening before. His face sets into a look of confusion as he thinks it over, the deep crease forming between his eyes.

He is jarred out of his thoughts by a hard kick to his shin underneath the table. His head snaps up to find Dylan staring at him again. Dylan mouths a silent "what?" to which Darren just shakes his head and schools himself, tuning back into the here and now.

Events like this one are a weird line to walk for him. He is at the same time surrounded by people who know him, know everything... okay, _almost_ everything, and fans who can't know anything. It's a juggling act to balance everything like this. Smile, be friendly, answer, don't be weird, don't say too much, be honest, don't be too honest! It feels like he is tip-toeing around landmines buried under the carpet of the hotel's conference room floor. 

The name that feels more natural in his mouth than any other name, slips out too easily, and he knows it. The game he is playing is precarious. These same fans who seem so sweet, so eager just to smile and pose for a photo beside him, how would they react? Would they still want to hug him and tell him he has impacted their lives if they knew the sordid details of his? Would they all hate him if they knew? He didn't like to think so, but the world is a strange place. The acceptance and understanding of love being just that, without restrictions, the way Darren had grown up believing, was still the exception to the rule. It took him a while to see that. Darren didn't see the hatred and intolerance of the world until he was grown, and was made to become a part of it. The crash down to reality had hit him hard, a literal impact that left a crater in the earth, survivable only by Chris being there to cushion the blow. Until he wasn't. And that hurt more than he expected it to. Still, it's his nature to believe in the good in people, in the world itself, and he tells himself that the people who truly care about him would not turn their backs on him upon learning the truth.

He is in-between events, having written out a hasty setlist just moments ago. He is almost reasonably sure that he remembers the chord progressions for these songs. He thinks. The lyrics however, no promises there. Luckily he is pretty confident that this crowd expected no less, than for him to fuck up a few times. He'll be bringing his friends up to sing with him for the second half of the mini set, which should hopefully help to mask the fact that he is ridiculously out of practice. He knows his voice is a little rusty from non-use, but he runs through a few lines of one of his own songs, and it all comes back to him quickly. 

He is sitting on the edge of the collapsible stage they have set up, tuning his guitar, when Dylan walks back into the large empty room. He smiles up for a moment, before glancing back down at the placement of his fingers on the strings of the guitar. 

"You guys done?"

Dylan nods and flops down onto the floor of the raised platform beside him and looks out over the rows of empty chairs that will be filled with bodies in an hour. He wears that look that Darren is beginning to get used to seeing on the faces of the people in his life, the look that says "if you think you are being slick and fooling anyone, then you're an idiot." A look that Darren emphatically tries to _ignore._

"I've been waiting to catch you alone. The guy who's running this thing has been on your ass like a diaper rash." He leans back on his hands and smirks over at Darren with an amused roll of his eyes. 

"You caught me. What's up?" He lays his guitar next to him, and settles his hands on his knees.

"Does that make you uncomfortable, when you start talking about Colfer in public like that? I was standing around listening in on your Q&A earlier. You went from talking about the difference between glee clubs, to yammering on about whispering with Chris in the backseat of some car. You realize you have a problem, right?"

_Dammit._

The exact conversation he wanted to avoid. "Why would that make me uncomfortable?" 

His friend snorts and tips his head back to look up at the white ceiling panels above their heads. "Cut the shit, Darren. We all know, and no one gives a damn. When someone mentions his name you either look like a kid on Christmas morning, or someone whose car broke down on the railroad tracks with a train coming."

Okay, that was nauseatingly accurate. Darren's lips twist into a scowl. He knows that Max had made a few comments earlier about him and Chris, and the way he had stood on his head for Chris' attention back when they first met. Then Darren had to go and make things worse by speaking a little too freely himself. More than once, more than three times, actually. It was just... hard. "It doesn't make me uncomfortable, I just never want to say the wrong thing and screw everything up. It's so easy just to say what I really think, and I _can't_ do that." He picks his guitar back up and begins to strum some tune, off the top of his head, to have something to do with his hands, and to avoid the weight of his friend's stare.

"So there _is_ something to screw up? You aren't just fucking around with him and hooking up this time?" 

"That's never been what I was doing." He is pretty sure there were never " _just_ " anythings when it came to the two of them. 

Dylan laughs and runs a hand over his own hair. "Fair enough. I mean we knew it probably wasn't just sex when you'd end up on Joey's couch in your underwear, reeking of weed and fucked up out of your mind, with a bottle of Jack in your hand, blathering on about Chris and angels and shit."

Darren's forehead crinkles, his heavy brows drawing close together, trying to remember back. "I did that?"

"You did that." His friend confirms with a laugh. 

"Huh." He isn't all that shocked, every time he and Chris would hit a bad spot, he usually ended up with a new lost weekend story under his belt, a few days that turned into a blur of not recalling much of anything. That man has always thrown him into a tailspin like nothing else. That's exactly _why_ he can't talk about this. "I was always the first kid in class to raise his hand and volunteer to share. Imagine not being able to share the most important thing that's ever happened to you with anybody."

"Darren, you don't have to hide shit from us. Nobody who cares about you will give a shit. We all already know, anyway. You're together now, fine, great! Hope it works out for you this time, since you have clearly been dick-whipped and look like a lost puppy without him. You can talk about it." 

He doesn't get it, Darren doesn't honestly expect him to. The situation he was in, it's insane. He doesn't think that anyone on the outside looking in will ever be able to fully understand. "No, I really can't. Because if I start talking about this, about _him_ , too much, to anybody, I don't know if I'll be able to stop. I don't know if I can just turn it off again. So I just... _can't_." He stands and looks at the empty seats again. All these people who think they know what makes him tick, it's ironic and makes him laugh to himself.

"Alright, you can't talk about it. Just..." His friend pushes himself up off the stage and comes to stand next to him. The space of the empty ballroom seems huge and cavernous suddenly. Not the best place for telling secrets. "Just try not to fuck it up. You wouldn't have been this stuck on the guy for so long if there wasn't something there. I know you can't be like out or whatever right now, but you should be happy. However you can be in the shitstorm you're in. That's all anybody wants."

His lips twitch up into a small grin. "I am, where he's concerned at least. So you don't think I'm crazy for doing this? For trying with him?"

"No, I know for a fact you're crazy." Dylan shoves him in the shoulder so hard that it makes the smaller man stumble forward a couple of steps. "He just isn't one of the many reasons."

\----

Chris has a house full of people while everyone prepares for the final, and arguably most important signing of the tour. His publicist, editor, literary agent, his assistant. It's all a bit much, and Chris is now hiding in his bathroom even though he has been ready to go for over an hour. 

He spent the morning trying (unsuccessfully) to make nice with his cat, moving dirty clothes from his suitcases to the laundry room, and texting with his mother about when to meet his parents and sister for lunch. He loves his mom, he does. But how many times does "your hotel, at noon" honestly need to be reiterated? It must be a mother thing. 

He and Alla will meet up with his family at a hotel he booked for them downtown, so that he can spend a little time with them before the bookstore event. He hasn't seen his parents or his sister for a few months, and when she asked if she could come see him, he couldn't tell her no. Despite the fact that he has never been comfortable having the spotlight focused on his family, Hannah has him wrapped around her little blonde finger and always ends up getting her way. He just hopes there isn't any extra craziness because of his family and friends being there this afternoon.

His phone dings in his pocket. Speaking of crazy.

His phone rings in his hand surprising him. He glances at the time and knows he only has a couple of minutes before they need to leave, and that everyone is downstairs waiting for him, but he answers anyway.

"Like hell it wasn't a date! I asked you, picked you up, we went to a show, we had dinner. That is what we in the real world call a date, Christopher." Darren's voice sounds huffy and affronted, and it makes an easy smile slip across Chris' face.

"You went on Ticketmaster on your phone _after_ I said okay and ordered tickets for a band neither of us had ever heard of, who sucked, and then we ate McDonald's in your car. Which I paid for myself if you'll remember. That wasn't a date, we weren't even friends yet." 

In all honesty it's one of his favorite memories. Darren's eager happy grin, the way it made the butterflies in his stomach feel like ostriches. Of course he was charmed, of course he was fascinated. Darren had flustered him in all ways, good and bad back then, and Chris had no idea what to do with that. Darren was just so... _much_. Too much. Those bright hazel eyes looked at Chris too long, he stood too close, casually found reasons to touch him too often. He'd been so confused. Chris had no idea what to do with this guy, this supposedly _straight_ guy, who stood next to him inside a mostly empty nightclub to see some horrible, whiney indie band, and let their bodies press up against each other. Hip to hip, hands brushing, and that smile, God, that smile... Darren has never had any concept of personal space, and it made Chris feel dizzy back then. 

"We'll just have to agree to disagree on that one. I asked you out and you accepted, I count that as a date. I wanted to kiss you that night."

Chris blinks rapidly. That he certainly did not remember. "You did? But... Why?"

"Every time I got close to you, you'd go all tense and act like I was about to attack you with a taser. I didn't think you were uh, receptive." 

Chris closes his eyes and imagines it. Darren just leaning in and pressing that smiling, sinful mouth against his, inside the dark cab of his old car, tasting of salt and sweetness from their french fries and sodas. Would it have changed anything if they hadn't spent all those months silently aching for each other, always at arm's length like they had? He licks his lips now, he can almost taste the salt on them.

"I would have let you."

"Well, I know that _now_." Darren's laugh is quiet and feels close. Chris clutches the phone tighter. "I must have asked everyone on the set if you were seeing somebody, if that was why. I asked some people twice. In fact, Amber banished me from the girls trailer."

_That_ was why Darren had been blacklisted? Chris had always assumed he'd been hitting on someone.

"It drove me nuts, Chris, not knowing if you liked me at all."

"I did." They had both been such fucking idiots...

"Again, this knowledge is about four years too late, but it's still nice to hear." There is a muffled sound of voices in the background. "Hey, look, I need to..."

"Yeah, yeah me too." Chris knew he was going to be running late, he could hear Alla's heels clacking in the hallway outside his bedroom door. Still, he didn't want to let Darren's voice go.

"Tell your family I said hello for me, okay?"

He would, his sister was almost as in love with the guy as he was. "I will. You have fun. And tell Max I said he and I need to have words." 

Darren chuckles and then his voice quiets, becoming just a whisper into the phone, one that Chris felt radiate throughout his body. "Forty-eight hours. I can't fucking wait to see you."

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply through his nose. "Me too. Dare-" 

"I know you do." He never makes him say it, it's just _known_. "Go on, go be amazing. I'll see you soon."

The call disconnects and Chris opens his eyes. The reflection of himself that he sees in the bathroom mirror looks like a strange, red-cheeked, fever-eyed combination of the boy he'd been back then, and the man he was now. They weren't the same person at all, but they had one definite thing in common. He would never be able to wrap his mind around the fact that Darren wanted _him_.


	41. Fairy Tale - Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We apologize for the delay of this chapter. Due to insane technical difficulties, and the author dealing with meddling parents and unwanted medical issues, it was pushed back a day. I (Lynne) am uploading this to AO3 so if it isn't as pretty looking as when Desi does it, blame me. 
> 
> *Warning* You might wanna be alone while reading this chapter - the boys have been physically apart for three weeks...'nuff said.
> 
> Song used in this chapter: "[Feels Like Home](http://youtu.be/Am7EI5tdaX4)" by Chantal Kreviazuk

It was a strategic decision to not even check a bag before he boarded his overnight flight from Los Angeles to Heathrow. Chris had crammed as much clothes as he could possibly fit into a nineteen inch carry-on suitcase, and thrown everything else he needed into the bag with his laptop, taking it all right onto the plane with him. He is grateful to himself for making the decision, because when he touches down in London and starts making his way through the busy airport, he’s able to bypass the baggage claim carousel all together, and head straight for the exit.

Chris' internal clock tells him that it was around four in the morning, though the sun beating down on him as he joined the queue for a taxi outside the terminal contradicts that fact, and sends him digging through his backpack for a pair of dark-lensed sunglasses.

The day before, they had talked on the phone about Darren meeting him at the airport, or at some spot nearby, but Chris had refused, shooting the idea down as soon as Darren suggested it. He wasn't coming there to see him in the middle of a crowded airport or some random cafe, to greet him with an abbreviated hug or a squeeze of his hand that would still leave them both glancing over their shoulders. Even halfway around the world, those instincts were too ingrained into them and finely honed to be able to turn off. No, Chris wanted to imagine, and then see with his own eyes, Darren waiting for him behind the blue painted door to the apartment across town. That is the image his mind had conjured up, and his stubbornness demanded it be made into a fleshed-out reality.

He tries not to noticeably smile and gnaw at his bottom lip as he sits in the backseat of the cab, fingers idly playing with the strap of his backpack. It's hard not to though, this is crazy, knowing he is only a twenty minute taxi ride away from _home_ , when he is on the other side of the planet. He is supposed to text when he lands, but that isn't what Chris wants either, so the phone stays turned off and stashed away in the front pocket of his bag. He just wants to get there, _be there_ , like this was something he does every day. He wants the simplicity of that.

He nearly throws a handful of notes in the cab driver's face when he stops the car in the street in front of the Bayswater apartment, with a quick "thanks." At least he thinks he said thank you. If not, he just added fuel to the “rude American’s” stereotype. Something he honestly couldn't care less about at the moment. He already has his key tightly clutched in his fist, the metal cutting into his palm as he approaches the door, but doesn't get a chance to use it. The door swings open before Chris even makes it up the short distance of the front walk.

Darren is barefoot and squenchy-eyed smiling, looking like more than everything. He would fly farther than an ocean to see this, Chris would fly to the moon for this.

"I thought I ordered a pizza, but you'll do."

They collide in the doorway, arms immediately flying around one another's waists, as he lets the handle of his suitcase slip from his fingers, the bag clattering unceremoniously down onto the front steps. Darren tugs him forward in through the door, leaving the suitcase behind, and Chris kicks the door closed behind them. He doesn't know which one of them starts laughing first, only that they are both just expelling the tension built up in their bodies over the course of the last few weeks, in breathless giggles as they hug each other as tightly as their arms can hold. Chris turns his head and places scattered, silent presses of his lips against Darren's ear and his hair.

"D-did you really?" His voice is gaspy and still broken-through with the catch of his giggling.

Darren is still squeezing him, still letting his mind and body confirm what his eyes are seeing. They are _here_ , both of them here, alone, finally. "Did I what?" Darren doesn't lift his face out of the side of Chris' neck, and Chris feels Darren's lips form the mumbled question against his skin.

"Order a pizza."

Darren shakes his head, still buried down against his shoulder. "No, the pizza here sucks." He finally pulls back a few inches, and Chris gets his first proper, up close view of his face. His eyes are clear, rested and untroubled. This place is good for him. "Hungry? I can order you something, if you want. Or just make you something here. I went to the market and stocked up yesterday. I figured you might want to eat and then take a nap or whatever." His fingers play with the belt loops of Chris' jeans.

As great as that sounds, Chris hasn't had a chance to truly be alone with this man in _weeks_. His mind and body are telling him that he is hungry alright, but not for food. He has to conscientiously tell himself they have a week, that he doesn't have to knock Darren down onto the sofa and wrap himself around his body like a koala bear. Even if it feels like it. "Sure, that sounds perfect."

Darren grins and cups the sides of Chris' face, framing his jaw with his hands. He leans in and kisses Chris' upper lip with a reverent sweetness that really makes the younger man whimper involuntarily. "I'm really glad we're doing this."

"This, as in having lunch, or being here, or kissing on your mom's area rug?" Their mouths don't separate, only curl into smiles against each other.

"All of it, any of it." Darren kisses his lips chastely, before pulling back. "Go stash your shit in the room, and I'll heat something up for us." He walks backwards a few steps towards the doorway to the tiny kitchen, his dancing eyes on Chris' flushed face, not wanting to let them out of one another's sight.

He knew the feeling. After he retrieves his bag from outside the front door, Chris stows his things in the same bedroom they shared the last time they'd both been here. It was just over a month and a half, but felt like a lifetime ago. Time has never moved in a logical, linear way between them. Days passed in minutes, someone you've only just met, can feel like they have already been a part of your life since forever, and other times their touch can make time and space stop all together, can transport you to some place distinctly _other_. When he walks back down the short hallway into the kitchen, Darren is pressing buttons on a complicated looking microwave, his bare feet dancing in place on the tile floor, and humming to himself.

Chris folds his arms over his chest and just watches for a moment, just silently observes. He is very glad they're _doing this_ , too. He can't see himself ever doing it with anyone else.

They sit on the couch in the living room with bowls of reheated chicken curry and rice balanced on their laps. The sofa is small, and Darren had pulled Chris' legs to settle sideways across his own, as soon as they settled down to eat. Chris is partially laying down, propped up on throw pillows, while Darren is crunched up into the corner, angled to face him. He is snorting his way through a story about a dinner-turned-party he attended at the house of a songwriter friend of his a couple of nights ago. There was a trivia game that quickly turned into “who can take more straight shots of Patron”, but Chris has predominantly stopped paying attention. His eyes can't stop focusing on the small smear of brownish-orange sauce smeared across the edge of Darren's plush mouth. Those red lips are just ridiculous, and Chris' food has gone cold, as he watches them, while Darren goes through the rather animated recollection.

"...got it, right. Chris?"

"What?"  His eyes blink several times in succession. He isn't about to admit he tuned Darren out ten minutes ago in favor of thinking about scraping his teeth over the stubble-covered skin of his chin and jaw, until the color matched the stupid beautiful color of his lips.

Darren sets his empty bowl on the coffee table, and sits back with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. "You've been here half an hour and I'm already boring you? This doesn't bode well."

 _Not exactly_.

"You just tired? Is the jet lag kicking your ass?"

 _No... Well, yes actually, but wrong again._ Chris rolls to the side to place his own nearly full bowl onto the table beside Darren's. The distraction has grown too intense to bear. He uses the back of the couch to pull himself up until he is straddling Darren's lap, his knees folded on either side of Darren's thighs. He swipes up the offending drip of sauce with his thumb, and wipes it off on Darren's t-shirt. "You talk entirely too much. You know that?"

"I do not talk too much. And you are not allowed to be a dick to me when you just go-"

The rest of his complaint is swallowed effectively when Chris leans down and seals his lips over his. He wastes no time in sliding his tongue into Darren's warm mouth and greedily licking up the trails of turmeric and cinnamon lingering inside. The body beneath Chris goes relaxed and pliant, letting him use the tilt of his head and drive of his tongue to open Darren's generous mouth to his. He kisses him hard, using his tongue to pull that fat bottom lip in-between his, sucking and biting it until the flesh is actually hot to the touch. He doesn't stop, won't relent, until Darren's hands are fisted into the back of his shirt tightly enough that the fabric threatens to tear, pulling until the plastic of the top button digs almost painfully into Chris' throat.

His voice is a low and raspy thing, alien to his own ears. "Not tired, still hungry."

When Darren only tightens his grip on the back of his shirt and nods his head comically fast, he can't help but laugh a little, stifling it into the top of Darren's hair with a kiss.  He rests his head there and feels the heat rise up in his face. Even with four layers of snug cotton and denim between them, he can feel the bulge of Darren's erection pressing up and into his inner thigh. He closes his eyes and draws in a shaky breath. Darren's hair smells like the sandalwood scented shampoo he always uses. "You... You really waited after that night when I asked you to? Haven't gotten yourself off since?"

"Yeah, I mean no. Shit. Yes, I waited." Darren's fingers find his waist, digging into the skin underneath his shirt, pressing deeply enough to bruise.

The confirmation sends a jolt racing through Chris' body. He inches his pelvis forward, letting Darren feel his own rapidly filling dick rock down against his. "I got off so damn hard in my bathroom after you fell asleep, thinking about you hard and aching like that. I like you saving it for me, waiting until I can see." He keeps his face hidden in Darren's soft hair, knowing he is blushing bright red, and slowly rolling his hips down into Darren's. The whine it produces from the man below him feels like silk across his skin.

"Ah fuck! I did, Chris, promise." Darren tips his head back to look up at him, those burning hazel eyes gone liquid-gold ringing pools of black. "I waited, and you said-"

"I know what I said." He cranes his head down and drops a soft kiss onto Darren's open mouth. "I haven't forgotten what I promised. I've been thinking about it so much. Missed how I make you lose your fucking mind when you watch me." Darren groans and tries in vain to pull him closer, which isn't possible with how Chris is already draped across his thighs. His lips twitch into a borderline evil grin. "After you'd say goodnight and we hung up, I'd lay there in bed at night and just wish for one taste of you, miss the way you smell. I'd have to roll over and rub against the bed until I came, Dare. Needed you so bad some nights that I couldn't even sleep."

Darren's head falls against the back of the couch with a loud smack that would, at any other time, have alarmed Chris, when his hand squeezes between their bodies to feel the thick swell of Darren's cock underneath his palm. "Well, you... _Oh_ , god. You clearly know where to find it now."

He hides his flaming cheeks and snickers into Darren's warm neck, only giving himself a few gropes to enjoy the feeling, before he is pulling the button on Darren's jeans open. Working the zipper down over the rise of the fully erect cock inside without hurting him, takes a moment, a moment too long judging by the hiss and impatient jolting on the other man's hips. By the time he got Darren's fly completely open, the shiny, sticky-wet purple head was peeking half out of the slit in his blue boxer briefs.

Chris pulls back long enough to grin at Darren's scrunched up, already needy looking face, before moving to his knees on the floor. He forces Darren's legs wider apart, scooting up closer between them. He needs way more room to work, but he can't stop himself from bending forward and pressing his lips to the glistening head of Darren's cock, it’s only a closed mouthed brush of a kiss against the side of it. He inhales deeply through his nose and moans out loud. He has always loved the sweaty sharp way a man smells here. It takes all his resolve to not just nestle his face into Darren's lap and contentedly breathe him in until the familiar scent and feeling of hard, warm flesh against his lips and cheeks lull him into a sweet sleepy place.

Darren probably wouldn't have been too happy with that, if the "Chris, come the fuck on! Please." he hears groaned out above him is any indication.

"So damn impatient," he teases, kissing away the bitter drop of clear fluid leaking from the tip.

"I haven't gotten off in four days, and I haven't had _you_ in like a month! Impatient, my ass!"

"Oh, I plan on it." He looks up at Darren with a smug smile and starts tugging the jeans and boxers down Darren's thick, strong thighs and it makes Chris' own impatience flare. This man's body had always sparked something hot and dark, that was usually dormant, flare to life and made Chris greedy and ready to just take. He pulls the pants and underwear off over Darren's feet and throws them across the length of the room like they've offended him somehow, and then Chris is free to look.

The way Darren looks creates a picture worthy of being memorized and appreciated. Naked from the waist down, shirt rucked up to unselfconsciously show off the soft, hair-dusted rise of his stomach, on which rests that gorgeous, thick, violently red cock that Chris has spent the last few weeks thinking of when he was lying alone in a hotel room late at night, with his own hand inside his underwear. Darren's eyes are half open and staring down at Chris like his face holds all the mysteries of the universe, instead of just a mouth to suck his dick. Both of his hands are clenched into the cushions of the couch on either side of his body, his breathing uneven and loud. He is just so damn easy to _ruin_ like this. Chris barely has to touch him, the simple sight of him between Darren's legs is almost enough. It's more of a thrill than he'd ever admit.

He shifts forward on his knees and begins to kiss over Darren's stomach, working up and down, outlining the shape of Darren's straining erection. The tense muscles in Darren's abdomen twitch and spasm under his lips, and a small smear of precome that has leaked out onto the older man's skin glosses his lips.

Darren groans loudly. "You trying to kill me?"

_Not yet._

He noses up the underside of the shaft, looking up at Darren who is staring down at him, jaw slightly dropped, and lips moving soundlessly. Chris opens his mouth over the sensitive spot along the bottom where the shaft and head meet, dabbing the little area with just a hint of his wet tongue. Darren flinches and his hips jump beneath him, causing his dick to knock against Chris' nose.

Chris tries hard to restrain his grin. "Problem?"

"Only that y-you are one uh, evil little fuck, Colfer." The words are hissed through Darren's clenched teeth. Chris can see beads of sweat already beginning to shine across his temples and the corded tightness of his neck.

He is the most perfect thing Chris has ever seen, and suddenly he feels like a starving man. Darren was free to think Chris was showing _him_ mercy when he finally sinks his mouth down over the head of his weeping cock, but it’s really Chris who feels relief rush through his body as soon as he has his lips tightly wrapped around him. There is no feeling in the world like having his mouth stuffed full around the heavy, soft skin over hard muscle weight of a man's dick surging up into his mouth. Chris isn't playing around now, he takes Darren in deep, not stopping until he feels the head of Darren's cock hit the back of his throat.

"Holy shit. Chris..."

Darren's hand flies up, and Chris knows he wants to grasp at his head, sometimes Darren gets spastic, and he’s accidentally choked Chris on more than one occasion. They know one another's bodies and ticks better than that by now, so he grasps onto Chris' shoulder instead.

He wants this. He clenches his eyes tight and focuses on the too full, almost suffocated feeling of taking Darren back into his throat. It's messy, spit trailing down his chin and wetting his neck, and the muscles in his cheeks ache within minutes. Darren is wide at the base, and it stretches Chris' mouth uncomfortably. He pulls off with a gasp, getting a decent breath. He works his jaw back and forth, wrapping a hand around Darren's dick and giving it a few twisting pulls. He licks his strained lips, they're half numb and taste like Darren's skin and his own saliva.

"If I tear the corners of my mouth, you're paying for plastic surgery." His voice is rough, and his throat feels raw.

" _Fine_ , god, babe. Whatever you want. Just don't... Don't stop what you're doing. Fuck, _please_." Darren's short nails dig into Chris' shoulder even through the fabric of his t-shirt.

He lowers his mouth back onto him, making sure to tilt his head to the side so that Darren can watch his face. He slides his tongue out so that both it, and his lips are visible gliding up and down the length of the shaft. Darren had always been intensely visual, and Chris isn't disappointed when the other man groans out and his eyes go almost comically wide.

He raises his hand and cradles the delicate, wrinkled skin of Darren's balls. They're tight and full, and Chris wants to suck everything from within them right out of his dick like through a straw. Chris becomes singularly focused on this one act in a way that makes him feel hot and dizzy all over, like he is about to tip over the edge himself. It's like Darren's orgasm is tied to his own, both of them barreling down towards it. He feels it when Darren starts to lose control. He can hear the moaning interlaced with words and his name, but _feels_ it when Darren's thighs tremble and relax in the split second before his mouth is coated with the first bitter-tasting, sticky gush. Chris nearly chokes, he hurriedly moves back, wrapping his lips around just the tip and swallowing as much as he can.

Chris drops his forehead against Darren’s heaving, sweaty stomach. That was a bit much. Neither of them regain the ability for speech for several long moments. He knows that he has spit and traces of Daren’s come covering his chin and one of his cheeks, but his body is too wound up to care. His hands are shaking and his dick, still trapped in tight skinny jeans, feels like it could burst at a single touch.

Darren lets out a noise that sounds much like a wounded animal and slouches further down into the couch so that Chris’ head is now resting on his chest. His long eyelashes flutter open and he drops that gold gaze down onto Chris’ face. “I’ll get you, too. What do you-”

“Touch me.”

The plea comes out far softer, and more needy than he intends it to. Chris uses his unsteady legs to push himself up and starts frantically pulling at the button-down fly of his own jeans. His fingers are clumsy on the thick fabric. He can feel that his underwear is damp and sticking to him as he gets them open enough to free himself, exposing his aching cock to the cool air in the room. He reaches out and draws Darren’s hand to it. “Please, just touch me.”

Darren’s fingers wrap around the length automatically, knowing the shape and feel of him by heart. He licks his lips and looks up at Chris from where he is still seated on the couch. “Ya sure? I mean I thought you wanted to…”

“I do! I will. I just, God, Darren.” He’s shaking. Blowing Darren had nearly driven him there without being touched, and he knows it won’t take much now. He just needs to fucking come. He needs _Darren_ to make him come.  If they tried to do anything else right now, it would be over in a split second, and that’s not what he wants. He hasn’t waited weeks to be with this man again, only to have it last ninety seconds and be over. If he comes now, he will be able to take his time and enjoy him like he wants.

Darren tightens his grip seeing just how far gone Chris is already. Chris is well aware of the fact that no other man would ever be able to read his body’s cues like this. Darren knows the perfect pressure, pace, and rotation of his wrist, and it shows when Chris is raising up on his toes, and soaking the other man’s hand in less than a dozen strokes. The release coils and then leaves him in rapid waves of sensation. He sways a little on his feet, still fully dressed except for where his still softening cock hangs out of his undone jeans.

When he stumbles a half step, Darren’s hands reach out and steady him by grabbing onto his hips. “Hey, hey, come here.” He pulls Chris forward until he settles once more onto his lap on the narrow couch. Chris goes willingly and feels boneless and spent in Darren’s arms now that the throbbing urgency has passed.

They relax together, letting their pulse rates return to something more normal, as the ticking of the clock in the room becomes the loudest sound around them. Chris is just starting to feel the waves of exhaustion hit him, when Darren laughs from behind him.

“What?” He asks, idly playing with the curling dark hair across the back of Darren’s hand which now rests across his chest. “Something funny?”

“Only that I don’t ever want my parents using this couch again. Or the bedroom and bathroom for that matter.”

Chris smirks and looks around the small rooms of the apartment. “Well, that means they can still use the kitchen at least.”

“Not for long they can’t.”

Chris groans and lets his head fall back onto Darren's shoulder.

They do break in the tiny kitchen. Chris kneeling behind Darren on the white tiled floor. Darren is so perfect like this, eager and happy to feel their bodies join again after the weeks they have both gone without. The way his light brown skin looks against the stark white of the kitchen, makes Chris' head spin, and when he asks Chris to fuck him without stretching him first, Chris is powerless to say no. He goes slow, feeling the tension burn in his stomach muscles from having to put so much force into the agonizingly slow push. Darren whimpers from the back of his throat, his head hanging down between his straining shoulders until Chris' hips press flush against that gorgeous round ass. The way it feels to finally slide home into Darren's body makes Chris gasp and shake on his knees. The tight muscles squeeze him to the point of pain.

He drops light kisses across the nape of Darren's neck and the top of his spine. "We're there, we did it. We did it, baby." He whispers into the back of Darren's sweaty hair, once they've fought through the push, before Chris starts to move.

They're just rough enough with each other to make sure that they will both be feeling the effects in the morning, a fact that Chris is infinitely grateful for. If he had his way, he wouldn't ever go a day without feeling what they do to one another.

Because he's already come once, Chris is able to resist the barely wet, but blood-hot squeeze until Darren is cursing and arching beneath him, coming in thick streaks across the kitchen floor. Chris briefly thanks a God he doesn't necessarily believe in, and allows himself to explode into the condom. He can’t help but wish he was feeling the natural moisture from the inside of Darren's body instead of the squishing of his own come strapped around his dick by a sleeve of latex. As soon as he sits back on his own thighs to remove it, Darren is rolling over onto his back in the middle of the floor. His chest rising and falling unevenly, his now soft cock, sticky and flopping down onto his right thigh, the man is the image of sated perfection.

Chris stands up and rubs at his red knees, a criss-crossed pattern of lines pressed into them from having knelt on the cold, ceramic tiles. He disposes of the condom and wipes himself off with a dishtowel. He tosses it down onto Darren's stomach with a smirk. The only response he gets in return is a low grunt.

"Clean up, lazy. You're laying in your own filth."

This time instead of a verbal reply, Darren opts for a well known universal hand gesture, his hand then falling back down onto his stomach with a quiet smack. Chris chuckles and shakes his head, walking over to the refrigerator and pulling the door open to take a look inside. He pulls out a plastic bag of grapes and two bottles of water. He rinses the grapes in the sink, and takes them along with the waters, to sit down naked as the day he was born, at the kitchen table.

Darren still doesn't move, and Chris scowls. "You sure you're okay?" He'd seemed well enough before when he turned and kissed Chris sideways, before he collapsed into a boneless, nude heap on the floor.

But now... "Darren."

"Shhh. You can't talk to me."

Chris' scowl deepens. "Why not?"

"Cause I'm fucking dead. You killed me." Darren's hand lifts from his stomach just long enough take make some kind of vague swirling motion in the air that Chris is completely unable to interpret, before flopping back down to the floor beside him.

"You asked me not to-"

"I didn't say I was complaining. I'm the good kind of dead, the _best_ dead."

He raises an eyebrow at that. "How is that different from any other kind of dead?"

Darren just grins without opening his eyes.

Chris snorts. "I literally fucked you stupid this time. It was bound to happen one of these days." He throws a grape which bounces off of Darren's chest and rolls away under the edge of the counter somewhere.

When minutes go by and Darren still doesn't even attempt to get up, the nagging feeling of self doubt begins to eat away at Chris' mind. Had he been too rough? Darren seemed to be enjoying himself, but was there enough lube? Was he in pain and just not saying anything?

"Dare, are you sure you-"

"Don't make me kick your ass right now, Colfer. I'm dead. We've both seen zombie movies, you know how that would end up." He cracks one eye and rolls his head to the side and looks up at Chris, face seemingly relaxed and just... happy.

"Fine. But can dead men eat? We just burned a whole hell of a lot of calories." Chris stands back up and resumes looking in the refrigerator. He sees the makings of a quick salad and throws it in one big bowl. Grabbing a single fork, he settles down on the floor beside Darren where he has been laying for the past hour. The ceramic tile is shockingly cold to his bare ass. How the hell was Darren just _doing_ that?

"Open, dummy." He waits for the other man to open his mouth, and feeds him a bite of romaine lettuce and tomato.

Darren grins around the fork, chewing and then looking up at Chris, who alternates bites between them.

"I could get used to this."

"I bet you could," Chris feeds him another mouthful. “Lazy slug.”

Once the salad is gone, he stands back up and places the dirty bowl in the sink. “When you are finished being dead, I'll be in the shower.”

Chris takes his time in the shower. Between the long flight, jet lag, and several hours of sex, his body is feeling the strain. He pulls on a pair of soft pajama pants, and finger combs his hair. When he walks back out into the kitchen, Darren has moved only enough to pull the bowl of grapes from the table onto the floor where it now sits next to him.

"Okay, that's it." He bends down and grabs Darren's arm, pulling him to to his feet with a loud groan. "You. Shower. Now."

Darren has the sad, kicked puppy look on his face, dragging his feet, as Chris bodily shoves him towards the bathroom with a laugh. "Go!"

Once he hears the shower start up down the hall, Chris cleans up the now dried, flaky mess of their... previous activities, and then turns back to the sink to rinse out the bowls they'd been eating out of. He turns on the radio for background noise, and his eyes are pulled out of the kitchen window and focuses on the back garden.

It's a half wild, small place, just a tiny walled-in space made of stone, covered in climbing ivy. It looks nothing like anything he would ever see in L.A. and suddenly, Chris itches to write it. To make a story out of this little pocket of perfection. All he needs is a character...

"Darren!"

He hears the bedroom door open and bare feet walking down the hall. "Yeah?"

When he steps into the kitchen, Chris takes ahold of his upper arms, dragging him through the open kitchen door and out into the late afternoon sunlight.

The back garden courtyard looks like something far more mystical and magical than any fairy tale world his imagination had ever been able to dream up, with it's unkempt tangles of wild flowers, and quietly trickling fountain. The light is warm and multi-hued, butter yellows, dusky pinks, violets, crimsons, and above all else, the shimmering golds. The light has a softer, hazy feel to it as well, as if it were being seen through a photographic filter. He can mentally decipher and describe all these things easily enough in his head, picking out the right words and phrases to bring them back to life on a page.

It's Darren who leaves him mentally blank. Chris doesn't move his hands from where they rest upon his bare shoulders, feeling the bronzed skin, seeing the way his lighter colored hands look against them. The shimmering gold hues that the sunset casts around them, the gray stone, the brown earth, the emerald green plants and leaves, every one of those colors swirls in those wide, gentle eyes, but his mind can't assign them a color. There isn't a name for what they are, no string of simple letters could ever be enough to do any justice. They make him lose his head, lose his breath, and his grasp on everything he knows. Always have.

 _"Something in your eyes, makes me wanna lose myself_  
 _Makes me wanna lose myself, in your arms_  
 _There's something in your voice, makes my heart beat fast..."_

This character, he would be an ancient prince from a far away kingdom, turned to stone by a powerful curse placed upon him by a coven of witches. He would be doomed to only watch the world around him for eternity, without ever joining in it. He was brought to this place, and  cursed for loving whom he chose, instead of agreeing to marry the dark-hearted daughter of another realm's wealthy, power hungry king. Over the centuries the stone prince would crack and crumble, moss growing over the surface of his once-smooth, brown skin, now gray and weathered with the passing of years. Forgotten about, as a lone and crumbling statue, in a seldom visited corner of the palace garden. Only his eyes, of which there-is-no-known-color, sad, breathtaking eyes, would tell the tragic tale of the man he'd once been. That, and the quiet, mournful whisper of a song that could be heard on the wind if one walked the gardens in the dead of night.

_"If you knew how lonely my life has been_  
 _And how long I've been so alone_  
 _And if you knew how I wanted someone to come along_  
 _And change my life the way you've done..."_

This wasn't much of a fairy tale, was it? God, can't this one just have a happily fucking ever after? Is it too much to ask?

Darren doesn't speak. He just patiently watches Chris watch him, stroking his thumbs in a smoothing motion up and down the indent of Chris' lower back. Darren, for once, doesn't say a word, sensing instinctively that this is a moment his lover needs to have.

His hands fall slowly, fingers slipping down Darren's shoulders, his arms, sliding across the skin until gravity pulls them down to hang loosely at his sides. He stares, his eyes becoming cameras, his mind a computer, focusing everything he is, on recording every facet of Darren in that moment. His heart is pounding so violently in his chest that he is sure if he looked down, he would see it visibly beating under the skin. But there isn't any looking away from those eyes. His heart could still and stop, and Chris would keep drinking him in until his knees give out beneath him and his body falls to the ground.

"Why do you do that? You look at me like this is the last time you're ever going to."

_Because eventually it could be, and I'll **need** this then._

Chris looks at this flawed beauty in his arms and knows _he_ is the story that he never intended to write, but will be trying to find the right words to explain, for as long as he lives and breathes.

He has to catalog every detail of this, with the eye and mind of a writer. He tells himself that he is going to need it to remember how this day with Darren looked, felt, tasted. Chris will have to find the correct words to capture it all. It's going to be the greatest, most unbelievable fantasy of a tale he's ever told, one that will never be read by a soul other than himself.

Chris thought he had known himself before, knew who he was and what he wanted, where his life should end up, and what he believed in. But that was all before Darren. Before the script was changed. Darren shifted everything.

Theirs was a story that never had any clear beginning, and it wouldn't have an end. Not in the traditional sense. He was never to going wake up one day and not feel the way does about this man. It's terrifying to think about, but he knows it as surely as he knows the sky is blue, or knows his own name. Life only has two options for him now. Either he and Darren are in this together for as long as he is living and breathing in this world, or he will spend his entire life missing him. If he isn't with Darren, anything that comes after, will be nothing more than a hollow echo of the way he feels right now. This is that _thing_. He is standing in a tiny walled-in garden, a safe, secret place in the middle of a huge, sprawling city, feeling the exact thing that all art, music, and life is made of, has been for all of recorded history. This was it. This was once in a lifetime, non-replaceable or repeatable. He would never love anyone like this again.

He can't remember anything in his life ever frightening him more than this feeling.

 _"A window breaks, down a long, dark street_  
 _And a siren wails in the night_  
 _But I'm alright, 'cause I have you here with me_  
 _And I can almost see, through the dark there is light..."_

Darren is home, he belongs with him. Nothing and no one else will be enough.

 _"Well, if you knew how much this moment means to me_  
 _And how long I've waited for your touch_  
 _And if you knew how happy you are making me_  
 _I never thought that I'd love anyone so much..."_

The realization hits him hard and makes him feel like the flagstones beneath his feet have become uneven and that it will make him fall. Without thinking about it, he is pulling Darren closer, eliminating the few inches between their bodies so that their chests are pressed together. If there was one thing he is sure of, it is that he's already done all the falling that a person can do in regards to this man in his arms. There is nowhere else to fall, and even if there was, Darren would never let him.

How do you tell someone _'Don't leave. Don't ever leave because I know that I can never back out now, can't quit'?_  

He doesn't know. And he has never been a fan of clumsy words. So Chris doesn't say anything at all. He tightens his arms around Darren's body until the bones of his wrists grind against the other man's rib cage. It's too rough, too tight, but Darren doesn't flinch or say a word. Chris buries his nose against the side of Darren's head, damp curls tickling his cheeks as they began to dry and spring back to life. His neck needs to be shaved, and Chris lets his lips skim over the coarse dark hairs along the nape of Darren's neck. 

So much between them has to be communicated through touch, because Chris can't bring himself to use words that aren't carefully planned, typed, edited, and rewritten again. Luckily for them both, Darren is a skilled reader of Chris' lips and hands. Darren has never minded offering up his body to be the keyboard that Chris types his side of their story upon.

_"It feels like I'm all the way back where I belong..."_

The rumble against his chest draws Chris back out of his own head before his ears have a chance to grab and comprehend the words.

"It's dark out, and you're cold. Wanna go back in?" Darren asks quietly.

The words are nonsensical at first, he belatedly realizes that the darkness of night setting in hasn't phased him, because he's had his eyes closed. He looks around them now at the hushed, summer evening that has fallen. Darren's large, warm hands stroke in a complicated pattern of circles and stripes across the skin of his back.

He doesn't want to be anywhere else. "No, love. I don't want to move yet." 

"Okay." He can feel the shiver that runs up Darren's spine at his words, and the soft kiss he presses down onto Chris' left shoulder. "Yeah, okay. We'll stay a while, whatever you want."


	42. Explore - Chris and Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonight's beta'ing adventures included tangents about Sam Smith, skunks, beards, Noel Coward, and a fish with a corkscrew penis.
> 
> ...I don't know either.
> 
> Thanks to Heukii for the lovely manip!

It takes them a full day to even start to lower the burning they have for one another. Three weeks without being able to touch and feel Darren close to him, left Chris feeling cheated and wrong. His body craves the closeness of physical intimacy, after feeling so out of balance without it. His heart and mind have been synced with Darren's for a long time, and his flesh and bones are now more than ready for that reconnection. 

Thirty-six hours later, the fire is simmering at a lesser heat, just a warmth under his skin that only sparks when Darren's fingers brush against a certain spot on the side of his bare hip when they lay together in bed. Darren is telling him about a conversation he had with his manager after word got back to him about just how _Darren_ he'd been at the convention the weekend before. Chris smiles, his fingertips catching in the dark springy curls that grow in thick patches down the center of Darren's chest. This place, Darren shines here, he seems more at ease in his skin and more vibrant than Chris has been able to see in a long time. It reminds him of the shining-eyed boy he first met, a Darren that lived and loved so easily, back before he was ever told that he was anything to be ashamed of. His lips touch the warm skin, just to the side of one of Darren's tiny, dark colored nipples and he silently berates himself for not being more selfless than he is. A better man would wish for Darren to stay here, to be far away from all those outside forces that insist on tearing him slowly down piece by piece. But that isn't who Chris is, he isn't strong enough to even contemplate Darren being permanently in a place where _he_ isn't. Not that the stubborn ass would ever listen if he told him to stay away from Los Angeles, anyway.

All they have are these small pockets of time that they can disappear off the radar of the world, and hide in each other's arms. Chris is still trying to learn to appreciate them _for_ , and not despite, that fact.

Darren rolls out from beneath him, flopping on his back on the opposite side of the bed. It's late, but Chris' internal clock hasn't yet caught up to the location of his physical body. It's one of the most freeing parts of being tucked away together like this; the fact that they have no schedules to keep, no set hour that they have to be awake and active. The constant state of nudity is pretty nice, too. Chris has all the time in the world to enjoy caramel colored skin, tight compact muscles, the sight of the finger-shaped pressure bruises on Darren's hips, and the reddish round spots that dot the back of his neck and down his back.

Darren stretches next to him with a low, contented groan, flexing out both arms and legs, even clenching and relaxing his fingers and toes. The image is more than a little distracting. "I want custard thingies." He sighs happily, turning his head to the side to stare over at Chris through his long eyelashes.

Chris snorts, eyes flicking over the the glowing green numbers of the digital clock beside the bed. "It's nearly midnight. I don't think you need any more sugar, we'll never sleep." Darren seemed to be acquiring a fixation for the small vanilla custard-filled tarts they both fawned over after dinner. Chris caught him sneaking an extra one from the cardboard bakery box sitting in the kitchen counter a couple times already, grinning sheepishly and pecking Chris' lips with thick honey-sweet vanilla on his breath. 

"There is no fucking time limitations on custard thingies, Colfer." He is already sitting up and climbing off the side of the bed, heading towards the door. "If you don't want any, more for me."

Chris' lips curl at the corners, they are pretty amazing. "Grab me two. Oh! And I need another-"

"...another Diet Coke, yes." Darren stops in the doorway and grins at Chris over his shoulder. "Anything else?" He smirks when Chris shakes his head, and walks out of the room laughing.

Chris rolls his eyes and grabs his glasses and cell phone from the nightstand. He slides the glasses on his face, and unlocks his phone to check his messages while he hears the muffled sounds of Darren moving around in the kitchen. It sounds like he is making himself tea to go with his third or fourth helping of dessert. Chris ignores all the the already-accumulating work related texts and emails in favor of scrolling down his Twitter feed.

_Shit._

He'd forgotten all about the episode that he guest starred on, which was airing tonight. It was easy for things like this to slip his mind when faced with... _yeah_. It had been an amazing shoot, and he was excited for people to see it. He mentally does the math, the show will air back in the U.S. in a couple of hours. He was missing the cast viewing party he was planning to go to before he decided to make the last minute trip to London, and his fingers fly across the screen to send off a text apologizing for that. He can at least...

"What are you doing?" 

Darren's voice startles him, and he looks up to see the other man walking back into the bedroom, carefully carrying two steaming mugs in one hand and a white bakery box in the other, with a silver soda can tucked into the crook of his arm. Chris is going to be needing more than one of those.

"I totally blanked on the Cleveland episode airing tonight. I need to live tweet or something. I'm sure I can find a stream link on the computer. I'm definitely not sleeping any time soon." He sighs and raises up on his knees to take the cold soda can from a now frowning, naked Darren. He pops the top and takes a long drink. "I hope you bought more than a twelve pack. I'm going to need... Darren!" He looks up when his phone is suddenly snatched out of his hand. "What in the fuck are you..."

"No phones."

Darren's lips are pressed into a tight, straight line, his eyebrows drawn together. He has Chris' phone held behind his back, arm extended as far behind him as it can go. 

"Give me my phone, Darren." He climbs to his feet slowly. With every step he takes forward, Darren takes a step back, keeping the small distance between them.

Darren shakes his head, inching backwards towards the door. "No way. Chris, this is _our_ week."

When he sees Darren's right leg take a deliberate step back, Chris' eyes narrow on his face, catching on to what was about to happen the second before Darren bolts down the short hallway. Chris is left startled for a few short seconds before snapping out of it, and chases after him. He skids across the tile when he finds Darren standing in the middle of the kitchen, his hands now empty.

"Where is my phone?"

The smug look on Darren's face tells Chris everything he needs to know. 

"Darren..."

"Nope, not gonna happen."

Chris plants his hands on his hips. He doesn’t have time for this. He needs to confirm that he will be doing the live tweet session, and find a working live stream link online before the show is due to air. "I'm not kidding, I need my phone."

Darren crosses his arms across his broad chest, and leans back against the counter, eyebrows raised in a clear challenge. "I'm not kidding, either. This is _my_ time, okay? I don't feel like sharing you, so I'm not going to. Plus, you need to sleep. I have to look out for you when you won't look out for yourself."

Chris huffs. _Overprotective idiot._ "This apartment isn't that big. I'll just find the damn phone then." He hurries around Darren, yanking open the drawers and cabinets one by one, digging through the contents frantically.

Darren takes a step back, his full lips pulled into a wide smile. "Go ahead and look, you're not gonna find it." 

Chris flashes him an annoyed scowl, and goes back to his search. The cabinets, the drawers, he even checks the microwave and inside the oven. No phone. He starts moving boxes and looking behind the cans in the pantry, when Darren steps up behind him. His arms slide around Chris' waist, warm chest pressed against Chris' bare back. 

"Babe, please." 

As if the low, husky plea wasn't a dirty enough play, Darren really ups his game by starting to peck gentle, moist-lipped kisses up the side of Chris' neck, ending at the tender spot behind his left ear. He opens his mouth over the area, beginning to suck at the soft skin. 

_Fucking cheater._

Chris' eyes roll up and back into his skull, lashes fluttering widely. His hands shake, until the can of olives he is holding slips from his fingers and falls back down onto the shelf with a loud clunk. Darren shuffles forward another step, aligning their bodies from neck to knee. He can feel Darren against the cleft of his ass, and his knees threaten to buckle under his weight. He reaches out and and grabs onto the pantry shelf in a tight, two-handed, white knuckled grip.

"No phones, no work." Darren's lips form the words against the shell of Chris' ear, the tips of them gone bright pink. "Let's just go to bed?"

_Yes, God, yes. Bed is a wonderful, lovely place._

But he can't give in that easily. As Darren smiles against Chris' ear, and his fingertips start tracing the defined lines of muscles under the creamy, white skin of Chris' stomach, he puts up one last, weak fight. 

"I don't, don't need... uh, the phone. I have my... my laptop." His voice is breathy and cut through with a tiny moan when he feels Darren's soft, grinning mouth kiss down his neck and across his shoulder, and Darren's half-hard dick settles between the cheeks of his ass. 

"Hmm." Darren's hands slide from his stomach to grasp firmly onto his hips. "Unless you want me to sit on it and rub my naked, sweaty ass all over the top of your computer, I don't advise it."

_Fuck._

"You wouldn't dare." _Oh, yes he would._

"Try me, Chris." The taunting words are accompanied with a scrape of teeth against the sharp line of Chris' collarbone.

Darren knows he has won when Chris' head falls heavily back onto the shorter man's shoulder. 

"Bed?" The asshole doesn't even have the decency to pretend not to be so pleased with himself for being an obnoxiously effective distraction.

"Yeah, bed." Chris turns and grabs Darren's hand, pulling him back down the hall, cell phone thoroughly forgotten where it lays hidden away, underneath the towels in the tiny, hall linen closet.

\----

They decide to get out of the house on the third day, even though Darren strongly contests that a clothing-free vacation has its own appeal. Chris merely rolls his eyes and throws a pillow at Darren's head on his way into the shower. 

Darren is glad, though. As many times as he has walked the streets of London, it just isn't the same without Chris walking next to him. The sky is a brighter value, the heavy layer of clouds that often blankets the city eradicated by the simple warmth that Darren feels inside of him, just by being able to be here with the man that he loves. They don't hold hands, don't kiss, but just knowing that they _could_ , that such a thing would even be possible, changes everything. 

They wander down familiar and strange streets and avenues, showing one another the spots of the city they have found for themselves, sharing their secrets and stories along the way. Chris shows Darren a few of the places he visited on his last trip here, when he had come alone to prepare for his role in the film. They walk by the old boarding house, the Savoy Hotel, the theatre, and finally make their way down a narrow brick-lined alley to stand in front of a run-down looking pub.

It was the place the poet himself haunted years ago, the place he wrote and found his muse. Some stories say it was the place he met the one true love of his "many existences", that in a lifetime of friends and lovers, there was only one who had really mattered.

"Sure you don't want to go in? I wouldn't mind checking it out." Darren squints against the bright sun beating down on them, and can see the shadows of people moving around inside the pub through the thick opaque-looking glass windows. Some air conditioning and a cold beer sound pretty damn good at the moment.

"No, not right now." Chris' voice is quiet, distracted. His bright eyes gaze at the building in front of them, but Darren is sure that his mind is seeing it in another time altogether, peering backwards into the past. 

Somehow even with the passing of years, the world hasn't changed nearly as much as it should have. Intolerances, prejudices, biases, they still exist in the same ways they always have. He knows that better than just about anyone.

Chris surprises him, making Darren jump slightly, when he wraps his strong arms around his waist, pressing his chest against the back of Darren's sweat damp t-shirt, and propping his chin up onto the shorter man's shoulder.

 _"Will it ever cloy, this odd diversity of misery and joy? I'm feeling quite insane and young again. And all because I'm mad about the boy..."_ The words sound like a song in Chris' quiet voice, the soft, breathy whisper is its own melody in Darren's ear.

"Chris, what-" His question chokes off inside his throat, when Chris shakes his head no, lips and nose still pressed against the side of Darren's ear and his hair. Chris reaches down and takes one of Darren's hands in his, bringing it up and gently kissing the back of his ring finger.

"Come on." Dropping Darren's hand and stepping back from him, he smiles with red cheeks like he is suddenly embarrassed. "There's a shop I want to check out a few blocks over." He turns away and starts walking in the direction in which they came. 

Darren hurries to follow after him down the cobblestone avenue. If Chris wants to pretend the flush on his face is just from the heat, he is willing to let him.

They escape the heat in little shops and cafes, taking small reprieves of cool air and cold drinks, before taking the train back towards Westminster. They opt to stand together on the train, holding onto a single bar instead of sitting, and Chris' fingers fold over Darrens on top of the burnish silver bar. Darren catches his eyes, pulled down by gravity deep into that swirling blue, green, and gray, and he can see everything Chris doesn't say. He sees the things he _can't_ say out loud. 

When it comes to the two of them, sometimes the intention, the _want_ of something, means every bit as much, as if the act has been done itself. That he can see Chris wanting to kiss him on a public train, knowing how much they both want this life together, Darren makes it mean as much as if it was happening. Because he _has_ to, because this is what they are. And it is so much more than he ever thought they would be. He strokes the back of Chris' hand with his thumb.

They get off at the Westminster tube station, Chris rattling off facts and pointing out locations like Darren doesn't already know them by heart. Yes, he is well-aware that scenes of Deathly Hallows were shot here. Who the fuck does Chris think he's talking to, an amateur? Darren humors him anyway.

When they exit back out onto the street, he can’t help but grin and take Chris by the arm.

"If we are going to be obnoxious American tourists, then we are going to do it properly."

Chris laughs and rolls his eyes when he realizes where they are headed, but he allows himself to be pulled into the crowded city square anyway. Darren is literally bouncing on the balls of his feet when they near the House of Parliament. 

Chris stands with his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his jeans, eyes taking in the grandeur all around them. He snorts at Darren who is looking at tiny replicas and postcards at a streetside souvenir stand. "You cannot be this excited about this. You've been here at least twenty times."

He places a little red double-decker bus model back on the shelf and turns to face Chris with a bright grin. "Well, I didn't get to be here with you, so I consider all those other times practice."

He drags a playfully reluctant Chris around until he finds what he considers to be an optimal photo taking spot. He digs his cell phone out of his pocket, and turns so the tower is behind him. "Okay, now get over here and pretend that you are enjoying this at least a little bit."

Chris moves up behind him, laying a hand on Darren's waist. Without seeming to give it any more thought than just the desire to do so, he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to the side of his hair. "I don't have to pretend." No one is looking for them here, they feel safe and content in a way that they usually don't, and it shows on both of their faces.

"On three. One... two..." He doesn't wait for three, he presses the button on the phone and takes the picture.

To round out the full tourist experience, they duck into a tiny fish place, and get greasy rolled-up newspaper funnels of fish and chips to go. Chris makes gagging noises when Darren smothers his with extra salt and vinegar. They eat as they walk back towards Hyde Park, tired and smelling of grease and sweat, but happily so. It may be one of the best days Darren has ever spent. 

"It would be so easy to let myself get used to this." Chris pokes at the soggy potatoes in his hand with a toothpick, and looks around at the late afternoon light illuminating everything around them. 

Darren wants him to, _needs_ him to, but doesn't say anything. Chris will accept the idea of forever in his own time, Darren has no plans of going anywhere.

Darren has no possible way of knowing it, but Chris already has accepted more than he thinks.

Chris tosses out the rest of his food in a trash can sitting on the corner, wiping his hands off on the thighs of his jeans. "I'm kind of exhausted. Ready to go home?"

That's pretty much all he's ever wanted.

Chris has been in a touchy mood all day, as touchy as he gets in any case, but Darren isn't able to read the signs for what they are, until they are safely shielded away behind the locked blue door of the apartment. They are no sooner inside and the lock engaged, than his back collides with the wall, Chris pressing him there, pinning him against it with his upper body, fingers tangling into Darren's hair. He is surprised, the sound of it half squeaked and half moaned into Chris' mouth. 

Chris pulls away, his eyes are sapphire bright in the dim light of the entry way, his cheeks flushed fever red. "Want you." He barely gets the words out, before he is bending back down to attack Darren's neck with his lips.

Darren’s head falls back, eyes fluttering closed and tilting his head, in order to give Chris all the room he wants, to work that magical pink mouth over his skin. "Yeah, I am getting that impression."

Chris keeps his face buried into Darren's neck and shakes his head. "No, I want _you_."

Darren never claimed to be the brightest crayon in the box, especially when Chris is doing such delicious things to his neck with that beautiful mouth, and all of the blood in his body begins taking a southern route. "Me, too." He reaches out and presses his fingers into the tight muscles of Chris' biceps, only to have him step away. He blinks fast, mouth dropping open and his brain takes a few minutes to function. "What? I said me, too!"

Chris rolls his eyes and takes a measured step back. "Are you really going to make me spell this out for you?"

 _Um..._ "Maybe that would be best?" His mind scrambles to decipher the mixed signals he is getting as he watches Chris take a deep breath, and lift his chin stubbornly.

"Fine. I want you to fuck me." His eyebrows quirk up as he says the words, fighting a smile at the undoubtedly destroyed look on Darren's face. "If you are agreeable to that." He bites out.

Oh, he is agreeable, stunned, but agreeable. 

He is all too aware that Chris has to be in a very specific mood and frame of mind to even approach the idea of bottoming. Darren never minded, has never pushed, is always very careful to let Chris come to the idea himself. They know each other's bodies far better than they know their own, and he knows that sometimes Chris gets overtaken by a need that he has a hard time communicating. 

They take their time, undressing in the hallway outside the bedroom so that Darren can properly appreciate the way the purplish-blue light of the evening looks washing over all of that milky skin. Chris is the single most stunning man in the world, and Darren is damn set on making him feel like it.

By the time they make it onto the bed, Chris is getting impatient and huffing out exasperated breaths into Darren's lips. "Just hurry it up, fuck." He has his hard dick in his hand, lazily pumping his fist up and down as he waits for Darren to just get on with it already.

Darren smiles and places another trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses across the light dusting of hair that grows between his pecs. "I am trying to do a thing here, Colfer. In case you hadn't noticed."

Chris groans when Darren pulls his hand away from the leaking head of his cock, and begins to lick at the sticky mess coating his fingers and palm. "That _thing_ is supposed to be me." 

Darren watches as Chris sits up on his elbows, and squirms on the sheets. "It's called foreplay." He laughs and bites down on the skin beside Chris' navel.

"It's called you are wasting a whole hell of a lot of time. Do I really have to do this myself?"

Darren watches Chris' fingers begin to grope across the blankets for the bottle of lube he'd dropped there, his hand flashes out to snatch it up first. "Nuh-uh." He sits back on his knees between Chris' spread legs. He has to force himself not to become fucking hypnotized by the sight laid out before his eyes. Chris flushed and his long, rosy-headed dick laying hard and ready in its nest of thick, light brown hair, and those _thighs_. He can't help but lick his lips reflexively. "How do you want to do this?" 

Chris looks around the room as if doing so would help him to decide. He opens his mouth to say something, but Darren's patience has finally reached its own limits. He lowers his body over Chris' and tilts his head back by cupping one hand around Chris' jaw. "Too slow. Just like this, I get to see you."

Chris gets mouthy and impatient through the slow work of being stretched open. With how rarely he does this, it is a long process, and his wrist starts to twinge like he'd been playing guitar for too many hours. Playing Chris' perfect, warm, open body is a far more pleasant way to ache.

Sliding himself into Chris' body is an experience like no other. Darren shakes through the overwhelming initial push into the clenching heat. This is as close as two human bodies can physically be joined, and he quivers looking down at the panting man beneath him. Chris is everything the world tells him he should never have or want, but everything Chris is, is all that he’ll ever _need_.

Chris flexes his hands around Darren's muscled, sweaty shoulders. "Oh shit. Do y-you intend to fuck me or stare at me all night?"

Darren closes his eyes tightly, trying to block out some of the overwhelming visual stimuli, but it's no good. Everything about how Chris looks, is burned into the insides of his eyelids and into his soul. 

But what Chris wants...

"Yeah, yeah, Angel. _Fuck_." He grasps hold of Chris' thighs tightly, hiking one around his back and pinning the other down to the mattress, holding him open and wide. He stops hesitating, starting an immediate rhythm of driving himself in and out of Chris' body as hard as he physically can. He has never been able to deny Chris anything he has ever asked of him, and he isn't about to start now. Chris throws his head back, and digs his nails into Darren's sides and groans from deep within his chest.

It's fast, Darren’s kisses land wet and messy on the side of Chris' cheek and chin, and his whispered declarations go unanswered aside from grunts and frantic nods of Chris' head.

The man is absolutely breathtaking like this, straining and wild eyed in the dark bedroom, shadows falling across his face and damp skin, cast by the light streaming in from outside their window. Darren is panting and sweating like an animal, but in the low light, Chris glimmers like a creature far more than human.

Chris whimpers and begins pulling at his own cock, jerking unsteadily, until Darren lowers a hand to join his, both of their fingers wrapping around Chris' swollen shaft.

"Let it happen, God, just let go. Know it feels good, Chris. Always so good with you." He mouths at the side of Chris' face and over his ear, his toes curled and barely hanging on by a thread.

When Chris finally spasms below him, coming all over their stomachs and hands, Darren has to stop himself from just collapsing down on top of him in relief. He drives himself into Chris' body a half dozen more times, before he is shaking above him and releases into the condom.

He flops over onto the mattress, throwing an arm over Chris' chest. He nuzzles his face into sweaty skin, and kisses Chris' shoulder. Somewhere between coming down from a powerful orgasm and drifting off into blissful unconsciousness, his stomach growls. He doesn't know if it is that, or the sight of the thick, wet mess spilled across Chris' rising and falling stomach, but...

"Now I want custard thingies again."

As far as pillow talk goes, it's not one of his better lines, but he hears Chris snicker quietly beside him. "You're joking."

"Hey, nothing goes better with love making than junk food." 

This time Chris snorts out into the dark room. "That wasn't making love, that was you fucking me in the ass, idiot." 

"And your point? I think we can make love out of almost everything we do." He turns his head to the side and grins at Chris.

"God, you are cheesy. What am I even doing with you?" 

"Well being fucked slash making love. Or were five minutes ago." 

"Dummy."

"In a minute, what you're doing with me is snuggling and eating little tart things. But for the moment, move the fuck over, bed hog. I'm not sleeping in the wet spot."

Chris shoves him hard in the chest. "We'll flip for it." He yawns and rolls over, hiding his face against Darren's shoulder.

"Deal." He kisses the side of Chris' face, the short hairs of his sideburn prickling his lips. "But I get the last tart, Colfer."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is confused about the quote Chris whispers while standing in front of the pub, it's a line from the 1932 song "Mad About the Boy" written by Noel Coward. I'm sure any Chris fans out there will understand the reference.


	43. Heat - Darren and Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the author notes tonight have to include the fact that the English langage is fucked up, and how is a pair of briefs not singular thing? Because it holds two ass cheeks?
> 
> Also rat-tailing is a thing.

One would think that by escaping and leaving L.A. in the miserable height of summer, you'd be leaving the heat behind you. Well, if one thought that, then one is a fucking idiot.

It's hot. The kind of middle of the day hot that makes doing anything at all next to impossible. From the moment they had both woken up in bed with the sheets sticking to their bodies, damp with sweat, Darren knew what kind of day this was going to be. The oscillating fans that they have moved into one room only serve to weakly push the heavy hot air around in lazy, drifting waves. Chris had suggested they open up the windows, but it was an idea he had quickly shot down. The last thing they wanted to do was pour more of the thick, late-July heat into the apartment. Why hadn't his parents thought to invest in a decent air-conditioning system for this place? Sure, they have never spent much time here, and he knew the weather was usually much more temperate, but _fuck_. This was just ridiculous.

Chris lays on his back in the very center of the bed, arms and legs stretched out to take up the entire surface of the mattress, with each of the four whirling fans painstakingly angled to focus on him. The warm moving air does not appear to be doing much to cool him off, Darren can see the tiny pin-prick dots of sweat gleam across the length of his body. He's stripped down to nothing but a pair of clinging light blue cotton briefs, far too cranky to tolerate any further clothing. He might as well just be naked, though, for all that the tightly hugging underwear is doing to hide what lies beneath them from Darren's eyes. 

Chris' long, lean body is laid out like an offering on an alter. Shining in the light flowing in from the window, with miles of bare, heat-flushed skin that might as well have had the words "lick me" carved into it. His hair is for once completely unsculpted, damp with sweat, and just brushed back off of Chris' high forehead. He lies still and his eyes are closed, but he clearly isn't asleep. The deep crease between his eyebrows shows his agitation is very much awake and thriving. 

Darren stands stiffly in the doorway, watching Chris' chest rise and fall with each slow, deliberate breath. He is even more sweaty and disgusting than Chris is, even if he is slightly more clothed in his loosest pair of jeans, riding dangerously low on his slim hips. He is every bit as hot and miserable as Chris, especially with the way the sweat mats down the hair all over his body, making it stick and itch. But he can't stop himself from staring at the man in front of him. Darren isn't strong enough to ignore the urge to kiss and taste every little rivulet of sweat from Chris' skin. He needs to cover that incredible body with his own, rutting himself helplessly against the hard planes of Chris' stomach, until they are both drenched in something hotter and messier than just sweat.

His bare feet barely take three steps across the bedroom floor before one blue eye opens and focuses in on him with an icy glare. "If you take one more step towards this bed, I will _end_ you."

"But-"

"No." There is no room for argument. Chris closes his eyes again and goes back to his task of purposefully being as still as humanly possible, expelling as little energy as he can to try and find some reprieve from the stifling heat. "Go play."

Darren snorts and flops down onto the foot of the bed heavily, jostling Chris' body on the mattress. "None of the other kids wanna play with me." He whines, taking one of Chris' legs and shaking it to try to rouse a reaction out of him. "Besides, I want to play with _you_. You're my favorite." He bends and kisses the boney rise of Chris' knee before starting to trail kisses up the slope of one soft, sweat-slick thigh. 

Chris kicks out weakly, trying to dislodge his leg from Darren's grasp. "Stop, I'm slowly parboiling. No touching." His voice is low and tired sounding, as if the heat was actually sapping all the energy from his body.

Darren grins when Chris stops struggling, letting his long leg flop back down onto the bed. "We're already touching." He crawls forward on the bed until he kneels between Chris' legs, he bends as he nudges Chris’ soft belly with his nose, and then his lips trail up the wiry, brown hair that grows in a line from just below Chris' navel down into the band of his briefs. 

Chris sighs and sits up on his elbows, the simple action seems to take superhuman amounts of effort at the moment. He glares down at Darren who is now lapping at the salty taste that sweat leaves on Chris' skin from the sensitive, ticklish area around his navel. "No sex." He clarifies with a pointed look. "You sweat like a dog and feel like you are running a 105 degree fever on a good day. Right now, you'd kill me. "

Darren looks up, giving Chris the full brunt of his puppy eyes. It's one of the most powerful weapons in his arsenal. That, along with having an ass that Chris has never been able to keep his hands away from, of course. In these current circumstances, only one of these weapons is likely to have a chance at working.

"Let's go out, then. Find a place with some decent air conditioning, get dinner, maybe take a walk once it starts to cool off a little out there. I mean, anything has to be better than _this_ , right?"

He watches the wheels turning inside Chris' mind, weighing the options, the pros and cons. Going out would mean summoning up the energy to get out of this bed, clean up, actually walk somewhere, but if the payoff meant an hour escape from this stifling apartment...

"Fine." 

Darren wants to do a little happy dance wiggle on the bed when Chris agrees, but settles for placing another kiss to his hip bone.

"But I'll need a long, cool shower first." 

Darren has zero complaints about that, and is already crawling backwards off the bed when Chris' voice stops him. 

" _Separate_ showers."

_Damn_. He opens his mouth to let the other man know just how much he didn't like that part of the plan, when Chris leans forward on his knees and wraps his hand around the back of Darren's neck. He presses his lips to the side of Darren's scruffy jaw, mouthing at the skin. "Later, okay?" The low murmur is enough to make a shiver run down the length of his spine all the way down to his toes. He finds himself nodding his head without his brain actively registering the intention to do so.

Chris pecks his lips, grins and clambers up off the bed, long, pale limbs bunching and folding like poetry as he moves across the room to his suitcase. "That damn shower is about the size of a telephone booth, anyway. I nearly fell out and cracked my skull open the last time we both tried to fit in there." He gathers up a small armful of clothes and turns to look over his shoulder at where Darren still sits on the edge of the bed. "I'm first, alright?"

Darren just nods dumbly again. Of course he was, to him, Chris always has been.

Darren falls backwards onto the bed, listening to the shower start up down the hall. The heat and boredom both suffocating. He pulls the cell phone out of his pocket and starts thumbing through his emails and Twitter.

He drops the phone onto the bed beside him. Over the sound of the shower running, he can hear the faintest sound Chris' voice. He hasn't heard him singing in what feels like ages. He grins and bounces up off the bed. Darren steps out of his jeans and slips out into the hallway, snagging a towel from the linen closet on the way. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he slips through the open bathroom door as quietly as he can. He doesn't want to alert Chris to his presence, knowing full well that if he knew Darren was in the room, he'd stop. 

Darren hoists himself up onto the bathroom counter. Chris' voice is high and clear over the rush of the water. The steam is rapidly filling up the tiny room, fogging up the mirror, and the humid air is almost hard to breathe. He can see the outline of Chris' body moving behind the thin, vinyl shower curtain. He recognizes the song when he hears Chris sing the words.

_"Oh baby, drunk in love we be all night_  
 _Last thing I remember is our beautiful bodies grinding up in the club_  
 _Drunk in love..."_

He grins and shakes his head. Chris is going to kill him for this. He waits until Chris' voice trails off somewhere after the second chorus, and then hops down from the marble countertop with a wide smirk. He starts clapping his hands and throws in a wolf whistle for good measure.

Chris's hand appears first, grabbing on to, and yanking back the shower curtain. Darren can see only his annoyed-looking face, and a sliver of his chest and muscled abdomen, soap suds still sliding down the smooth skin. "What are you doing?"

"Making a strange heaven out of unbelievable hell?" He delivers the quote with a sheepish little smile, his fingers dropping to toy with the towel where it’s wound around his waist.

The smile that lifts across Chris' face when he recognizes the words is wide and blinding. "Someone has been doing their homework."

Darren pouts. "I have read a book or two before, Colfer. I'm not the completely uncultured swine that you seem to think I am." 

Darren barely has time to register the eye roll on Chris' face, before he has the shower head turned on him, and gets sprayed in the face. He jumps back, nearly slipping on the now wet tile under his feet. "Shit!"

Chris laughs loudly and continues to spray him up and down across the tiny bathroom. He braces himself against the counter and glares back at Chris through the water now clinging in heavy drops to his eyelashes. "You are going to regret that." He smiles and slowly pulls the towel from around him.

He can see the moment that Chris catches on. 

"No! Don't you fucking dare, Darren!" He shuffles backwards as he watches Darren begin to wind the towel in his hands, but there's nowhere to go, Chris is trapped by the shower wall. The look on the other man's face is pure wickedness as he twists the towel in his grasp, and lets it fly with a loud snap. 

\----

Chris shouldn't be surprised when Darren's suggestion for the first spot on their ambling pub crawl, is the very same one they stood in front of two days before. He isn't sure about this, the idea makes him anxious. He had been given a private tour of this place, he's been seen here. His name is attached to the project openly now, and if either of them are reported as having been here... if anyone did the research and put two and two together, it could be bad. But Darren's enthusiasm and insistence that they could just blend in with the steady stream of patrons coming and out of the doors of the ancient tavern, eventually sway him. 

He loves old places like this, places where so many years worth of memories and emotions are indelibly ingrained into the dark wood of the floors, the walls, the battered tables and booths. So much history, so many stories lingering in the room like silent ghosts, all hosted in the large, darkly-lit room. Every photograph and antique hanging on the wood-paneled walls have born witness to more love and loss than Chris' mind can barely fathom. It's one of the oldest establishments in the city, and being London, is saying something considerable. He trails his fingers across the back of one tall booth, taking it all in, while Darren goes to order them a couple of drinks and searches for a table.

They end up tucked away in a booth in the very back corner, indistinguishable from the crowd of students, artists, and tourists that drink and laugh around them. The room is narrow and dark, lit only with dim chandeliers, wall mounted sconces, and even firelight. It fits the classical ambience of the place. The long, polished bar that runs the length of one side of the room, showcases bottles from around the world, many of which are far older than either of the two of them.

Darren's eyes look dark in the shadowy pub from where they watch him across the other side of the table. "Where are you right now?"

Chris' fingers spasm around the glass he holds in his hand, and he swallows. History is a heavy thing, it had a weight to it that he has always been able to actually _feel_ pressing down upon his mind in a place like this. It was one of the reasons he had been so set on visiting this particular spot when he started doing research for the role. There was so much here, so much to draw on and process. Especially after reading the one story... 

"Thinking. About people who are too stupid to hold on to the things that they're supposed to fight for."

Darren's eyebrows lift, his face expectant for Chris to expand on his cryptic comment. But he can't, not now, not with the place that it leads his mind to. He takes a sip of the vodka and soda in his hand, the bartender hadn't been liberal enough with the liquor.

When all else fails, Chris babbles. "Did you know this place first opened in 1623? There's been a pub on this spot ever since. It's changed names a few times though. C.S. Lewis wrote here, too. God only knows who else. Kind of amazing, right?"

Darren's gaze never strays from his face. It's unnerving how much those jewel-toned hazel eyes see. Hiding from Darren has never been something he is particularly good at. 

Darren’s lips twist at the corner and he reaches out across the table top for the hand that Chris still had wrapped around his glass. "Thank you, TripAdviser.com. Now you want to tell me what the fuck you were really thinking about?"

_Not really._ But Chris sighs knowing that he will anyway.

It isn't a pretty story. The theories guess that it was in this very room where two men once met and fell madly, obsessively in love. It was a quiet affair, one side having too much at stake to flaunt themselves as much as they may have liked. Theirs was a love that existed in dark pubs, run down inns, and shadows. It was a relationship that flared hot like a flame, but died out just as quickly once the candle's wick was burnt up. Only a month. Then life happened and one of them had to go away, and the other chalked it up to fate saying "that's that." After only a month, the story goes that the two men never saw one another again, never searched, never even fought to stay together. They allowed what they shared to become no more than a memory, fodder for poetry and songs, the personal reference one uses when writing about love lost.

There is no way of even knowing if the story is true, so much has become exaggerated and myth, but to Chris it carries the weight of fact, that lingering taste of history. And it's just... sad.

Darren sat still and uncharacteristically quiet as Chris recounted the tale, his only movement being the way his littlest finger stroked up and down the side of Chris' hand while he listened. Those annoyingly perceptive eyes study Chris' face so closely, that it makes him begin to feel uncomfortable, and he squirms in his seat. Even with the chatter of the other people sitting around them, the moment feels too heavy, Darren's gaze is just too much, and Chris' mind starts screaming at him to break it somehow.

He opens his mouth to rattle off another fact about the actual known history of the bar. "There was also..." His comment trails off, when Darren's fingers go tight around his, squeezing hard enough for their bones to grind.

"You know that's not us. Right?" His eyes are burning more bright and gold and hot than the fire in the grate. "We don't have any kind of expiration date stamped across our asses. Trust me, I would have seen it by now if we did." He stops and leans closer, coming up out of his seat on the bench across the table, and moves forward so that Chris can see nothing but his face. "You don't have to keep thinking about how things will get fucked up, or when it's going to end, because I have no intention of going anywhere. And even if you tried, I wouldn't make it easy. If you wanted out, then I'd eventually have to accept that, I guess, but not before I did everything in the world that I could do to change your mind. Chris, you've got to stop looking forward and backwards so much."

Chris closes his eyes tight, having to break away from that hypnotizing stare. He tries to live and love in the here and now, he does. But it's hard for him. It's hard to not see his time with Darren coming to an eventual end someday, impossible to know how much they would fight for one another in a world that won't allow them the peace to exist anywhere. The world isn't going to stop caring suddenly when the show ends. If anything, people are going to expect Darren to be _more_ of what they want him to be, the perfect poster boy image of a rising Hollywood star, an image that can't include Chris. One that he doesn't want any part in. How can he want Darren so damn much and yet want absolutely nothing to do with his life? How long can that possibly last?

Chris is aware that love can last, burn under your skin for as long as you're drawing a breath, but he doesn't believe that relationships can. Darren's optimism and belief in them is far more unshakable than his. He knows he will always want the man with the liquid golden eyes sitting across the table from him in an ancient British pub, he just doesn't know how long the world will let him hold what he wants in the palm of his hand.

"I love you." It's the most basic part of the truth that he has, and the only thing he knows to say. 

Darren lifts himself up even further, leaning across the table to press his lips against the corner of Chris' mouth. It's a hard, off center kiss, that nearly spills the melting ice from his drink all over the place, but it makes them both smile. "Ready to get out of here?"

Chris lets all of the air rush out of his lungs in a single gust of breath. "Definitely."

"I'll go pay the tab." Darren pushes himself out of the booth, and walks away towards the bar to settle up before they can leave. 

Chris looks down at the wine list to have something to do while he waits, and misses it when Darren pulls his phone out and snaps a quick picture.

\----

They visit a few more pubs, having dinner at one, and choosing to bypass another when the clientele appeared too young and their presence could have been a bit too obvious. They both hate this part of their existence, the constant hiding and needing to be careful, but it is second nature now. The looking over one another's shoulder, protect each other at all costs, it's just an integral part of who they are. 

The selectiveness of where they do or don't choose to go, pays off when at the final stop of the night, they literally run straight into a well-known British actress from a television show they both adore. Maybe it's the bravery of being solidly together on the other side of the world, or maybe it's just all of the liquid courage running through their bodies, but Chris clamps his arm around Darren's, and they walk up and introduce themselves together. The fact that no one bats an eyelash at this, leads him to wonder just how many people out there suspect something close to the truth about the two of them anyway, despite the carefully orchestrated Svengali tactics to prove otherwise. It's a scary concept, and he shudders away from it. Darren mistakes the shaking for anxiety or fear, and acting on pure instinct, places one warm hand against the small of Chris' back.

Photos are taken, pleasantries are exchanged, drinks consumed. When Darren excitedly posts his own picture with the actress to his Instagram, Chris just laughs. He knows the matching one of himself will have to stay safely on the phone in his pocket, along with so many others that can never see the light of day. Another small price to pay for the opportunity to have a life with the man beside him.

It's late by the time they start heading back towards Bayswater. They're still pleasantly buzzed from the alcohol, reckless and happy, bolstered by the way it feels to be mostly invisible all night. So when Darren tugs at his arm and suggests a walk through a now-deserted Hyde Park before they go home, he accepts instantly.

The park was always beautiful, wide stretches of green grass and winding paths beside the water, but at this time of night, it feels like they've stumbled into a far away land from one of his books. The buildings on the other side of the river cast rippling reflections across its surface, the lights reflecting like small multicolored fires. Even something as mundane as the streetlights look like magical beacons in the night, lighting their path. The distant sound of road traffic and city life is softened here, a distant quiet thing that exists underneath their own breathing and footsteps. 

Something about tonight makes Chris feel brave, possibly the thoughts he was having earlier about how fleeting all of this could be, or possibly just Darren. In any case, when their arms brush between them, Chris tangles their fingers together, and holds on tight. Darren turns his head and kisses Chris' upper arm through his shirt, making him laugh.

"You're extra affectionate tonight, not that you're not every night." Chris comments lightly.

The other man chuckles, slides a few inches closer and rests his curly head on Chris' shoulder while they walk. "You smell nice. And the bartender did say that Pimms shit is an aphrodisiac."

Chris snorts, thinking of the way the woman working the bar at their last stop had practically forced the fizzy, fruity stuff down their throats after discovering they were unfamiliar, and thus stupid, ill-informed Americans. "Pretty sure that is just the gin talking." He feels it when Darren forces the fingers of one hand into the back pocket of his tight skinny jeans, turning his head and tipping it back to breathe humid, warm puffs of air against Chris' ear.

"Pretty sure it's mostly just the way you look in these jeans." 

Chris shoves him away when he feels the tip of Darren's tongue flick out to swipe at his earlobe. "Cut it out."

They both grin and settle back into an easy matched pace beside each other. The light in the park has a heavy violet tint to the air and it makes Chris think of velvet, and Stevie Nicks songs, and old books. 

"Can you imagine yourself living here someday? I mean have you thought about it?" He looks over at Darren next to him, who now has his hands in his own pockets. 

Darren shrugs his shoulders once. "I've thought about a lot of things." He doesn't look over at Chris when he replies, his eyes fixed on some indiscernible point on the path ahead. 

Chris' forehead creases at the cryptic response. "And that means what exactly?" 

"It means that I have wondered what I'll do, sure, but I honestly have no idea. I try not to make plans that far ahead." He sighs and kicks a soda can that had been left laying in the path, making it skitter away with a quiet metallic scrape. "I mean, work is in L.A. for the foreseeable future, so there's that. Then I've considered setting up in New York full time. If I wanted to focus on recording or producing, there's going back to San Fran or Chicago. In the end though, it doesn't really fucking matter."

How could it not matter? Darren was talking about his future, what he would do once he finally got himself free from all of the crazy regulations and expectations placed upon him. "It doesn't _matter_? Darren." He hopes the disbelief he feels is reflected in his tone.

"It doesn't matter because I don't know. A lot of stuff is changing for me right now. The things I thought I wanted, they don't matter like they use to. All I know for sure is I'm going to want to be wherever you're at. Guess we'll see where that ends up being, and I'll think more about it then." 

Darren says the words like they're simple facts, like he was explaining where he bought a pair of shoes, or why he chose to make eggs for breakfast. Just did. He keeps walking down the path beside the river slowly, getting several yards away before he notices that Chris has stopped moving. He stops and looks back at the other man.

Chris' face is set in something strained and unreadable. "It's really that easy for you?" It's an idea that he can't even bring himself to understand, the way Darren trusts things to work out without thinking it to death and back alive again, just going with it and letting himself be happy in the moment they are in. The idea is as foreign to Chris as placing his hand directly into a lit flame. It's dangerous and would be sure to burn him.

Darren tilts his head to one side, his eyes tighten like he is carefully phrasing his answer. "Being with you isn't easy, but I know it's right for me."

"How?" The question escapes Chris' lips of its own volition. He doesn't know whether or not it is something he even wants to hear the answer to. If Darren knew the depths of his own self-doubt, would it drive him away? Did Darren honestly believe that someday the world was just going to be okay with the two of them being together after all of the hiding and outright lies? Chris can't comprehend a future like that as much as he wishes for it to be true.

Darren slowly walks back to him, soft, round eyes locked on Chris' face. "I'll show you how. C'mon, let's go home."

He resists this idea. It's stupid, it's cheesy, and he's seen it in at least a dozen movies. But then again, Darren is sort of stupid and cheesy himself. So what should Chris really expect?

Darren walks behind him, steering Chris into the bedroom and turning on the lights along the way. He forces Chris to stand directly in front of the full length mirror that hangs on the outside of the closet door. Darren wraps one hand around Chris, resting his splayed hand across his stomach and meeting Chris' eyes in the mirror reflection of themselves. 

"Okay, tell me what you see."

Chris huffs impatiently. "That you need to shave again." He receives a sharp jab of Darren's finger in between two of his ribs for that one. " _Ow._ Okay, fine, I see us." Darren's chin rests upon his shoulder as they stare at their combined reflections. 

"And do we look wrong to you?"

They don't, they never have, but it is everyone else in the world that seems to think so.

Darren must read the answer in Chris' face, because he rises up on his toes to crane his head around and press his lips to the underside of Chris' jaw. "To hell with what anyone else thinks." 

His fingers start at the top and begin to work open the buttons on Chris' shirt, an act that Chris finds mesmerizing. He can't tear his eyes away from Darren's fingers slowly exposing his chest between the flaps of his shirt, until it hangs open. Darren's eyes look down over Chris' shoulder, while Chris watches in the mirror, Darren skimming the knuckles of one hand up and down the white skin he'd uncovered. 

Neither of them say a word as Darren slides first one hand, and then the other up underneath the open flaps of Chris' button down. He leaves one hand on Chris' chest, directly over the spot where his heart is hammering away inside his body, while the other works the material down and off his arms.

"Watch my hands on you, tell me this isn't fucking beautiful." 

Chris can't deny that. The way Darren's darker hands look stroking across his paler skin, the bright flashes when their stares meet in the mirror, it's all breathtaking. He shudders a little when Darren scrapes his fingernails over the pinkish colored nipples on his chest, goosebumps prickling out along his chest and arms.

"You are the one thing about myself that I can feel 100% right about, Chris. Yes, I'm sure. I am so goddamn sure that it hurts." He lowers his head and drags his hot, plush mouth down the back of Chris' neck to the top bump of his spine. 

"You really don't get how I see you? How everything about you just makes me lose my fucking mind, Angel?" Darren mouths all along Chris' back and shoulders, sucking marks into the pale skin that reddens up so perfectly under the attention of his lips and teeth. He whispers sweet hellos to Dinkus and Figaro, the darkest freckles on the back of Chris' hairline and right shoulder that he'd named once. 

Chris' body turns into a boneless mass in Darren's warm arms, and has to be held up when Darren begins to work to rid him of the rest of his clothes. Darren even kneels down to lift each of Chris' feet in turn to free them from the jeans and briefs now pooled on the floor. He kisses his way back up the other man's body slowly, paying special attention to the soft skin behind Chris' knee that makes him jump when touched. The backs of his thighs, the little light brown mole on Chris' hip, the sweet, bottom curve of his high, round ass. Darren wanted to touch and appreciate every area of Chris' body that he loved. 

Chris was hard and beginning to leak at the tip once Darren finally made his way back up to stand behind him. He slid a hand back around to urge Chris to lean back against him, he went more than willingly. It felt unbelievably erotic, feeling Darren's clothed body against his own naked, and now fully sensitized skin, the roughness of Darren's jeans against his own bare ass cheeks. It made Chris' cock throb violently, a small bead of sticky, clear fluid dripping out of the wide slit and down over the shaft.

"Look, look at your eyes." Darren's voice is low and growling in his ear in a way that makes Chris whimper. He has to fight to focus enough to be able to do as he asks. "Your eyes go all dark, midnight blue like that, it only happens when you're turned on. This is what I see every time you are above me, or below me on your back, or staring up at me when you blow me. And your pretty mouth, God, Chris." Darren crashes his face into the side of Chris' neck, shaking himself, but clearly trying to hold it together so that he can hold them both up. 

Chris feels, instead of sees it when Darren draws in a deep, uneven breath, lowering his hand to Chris' swollen cock. 

"This. The first time I ever saw your dick, we'd been fooling around in your trailer at work, and you came in your pants. Fuck." Darren's fingers tighten around the shaft, his thumb massaging circles into the indented spot underneath the head. "You jumped up to clean yourself, all red and embarrassed and so fucking adorable that I couldn't stop grinning like an idiot. You turned around and I saw just a glimpse of this perfect, long cock and I thought I was going to come myself." 

He looks up from where he'd been watching the sight of Darren's long fingers around him to find his eyes in the mirror again. Darren's gaze is _burning_ , locked onto Chris' face, Darren's own face gone a feverish red.

"I did, you know. I went home and that same day I could barely get behind a door to jerk myself raw. Already wanted you so bad."

The noise that Chris makes as his entire body spasms in Darren's arms is a loud and whimpering thing. Long, pearly streaks of come erupt violently from his dick, coating Darren's fist, across Chris' left foot and the floor next to it, and even one oozing slowly down the surface of the mirror in front of them. 

"You see? You're perfect, so beautiful with me." Darren's voice is just wrecked as he frantically ruts himself against the side of Chris' hip and pets at the other man's chest, smearing come everywhere.

Chris' head lolls back weakly against Darren's shoulder. With the way his heart is racing and colors flash behind his eyes, he can't do anything but nod in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The heaven and hell quote Darren says in the bathroom is from Noel Coward's most famous quote about England. Look it up, friends.


	44. Time - Darren and Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonight's beta quote: "Does ass crack need a hyphen in it?"
> 
> This one includes not one, but two manips by Ms [Heukii](http://heukii.tumblr.com). She makes my dreams look pretty.
> 
> For teasers, the playlist, F.A.Q., and additional visual references (like the gift Darren has tucked away in his suitcase) please visit the [Shifting Dreams story blog](http://shiftingdreamsfic.tumblr.com)
> 
> Song used in this chapter: "[I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues](http://youtu.be/h6KYAVn8ons)" by Elton John

It's funny how so many things in life are ruled and regulated by time. Dates and clearly noted specifics are the standard for the way that people mark and remember the important things that happen to them. Maybe it's just easier to assign things a linear place in time to help make sense of the chaos out there. He knows what year he started kindergarten, what time of day it was when he had his first kiss with a girl from school in his parents' garage when he was eleven, he knows the number of years he's owned the first beat-up Fender that still lives in his living room back home.

Most things have clear, countable units of time attached to them. But he and Chris don't. There was never a clear-cut discernable moment when the new guy he met at work became his friend, his friend became his lover, lover became his love, and that love became life. There isn't any crystal clarity to when _they_ began and how things progressed to where they are now. Even in the most strained of times, when the mere fact of being in the same room made them ache, and Chris' eyes took on that stormy, steel-gray thundercloud color, there was never a known beginning or ending to what they were. The fact that no goodbye they ever shouted at each other in an angry fit of frustration or jealousy felt at all permanent, went unspoken but mutually known. Start, stop, hi, goodbye, time. Those things just don't apply to them in the same way that it does to other people. 

That doesn't stop time from passing when you want it to stand still, though.

If the shower in the walk-in closet sized bathroom wasn't made to hold two fully grown bodies at once, the bathtub was even less so. Both of their legs were bent and folded at awkward, uncomfortable angles, sticking up out of the water from thigh to lower calf, and Darren was sure only one of his ass cheeks was able to make contact with the bottom of the tub he was sitting in. Chris sits behind him, his chest smashed tightly against Darren's back, one arm looped around his body loosely, while the other hangs over the edge of the tub. There isn't even all that much water; the combined volume of their bodies not allowing for them to leave the water running long, before the danger of the bath overflowing and flooding the bathroom floor causes them to turn the spigot off. Sitting here like this is far more about having an excuse to be close while they still can, than getting clean anyway. It's cramped, and the water has already gone lukewarm, and it's still the only place in the whole goddamn world he'd want to be. The hours spill slowly away from them like drips from a leaky faucet.

They're decidedly _not_ talking about the fact that this is the last day they will both wake up and fall asleep together here in London for who knows how long.

His head is tilted back onto Chris' shoulder, while long pale fingers rake through the heavy growth of hair along the center of his chest. Every so often he can feel silken lips touch down to kiss the back of his wet hair or the oddly shaped birthmark on the back of his shoulder.

He isn't sure how long he's been drifting into peaceful, far away worlds unknown, when Chris' voice breaks the hush in the muggy room and pulls him back into his body.

"Who were you on the phone with earlier?"

Darren blinks, having to kick start his sluggish mind into gear to be able to even remember. "Uh, oh, oh yeah. Just my dad." 

It had been an... eventful conversation, one that he needed to continue with his father in person. Soon. Darren's heart begins to speed up in his chest just thinking about it.

Chris though, is oblivious to details of why Darren chose to call and wake his dad up at the ass crack of dawn. "Everyone doing okay?"

"Are you kidding? They're all on Cloud fucking Thirteen."

He can feel it when Chris snorts from behind him. "Cloud Nine just isn't good enough for you people, huh?"

"Nope." Darren pulls the arm that Chris has wrapped around him, tighter, twining their wet fingers together against his stomach. Maybe if they both wish for it hard enough, the universe will be kind and time will just stop here and now. "I kinda feel like a jerk."

"You are a jerk." Chris' immediate snark makes him smile. "Why are you a jerk this time, though?"

His flight to New York leaves early the next morning, an hour before Chris will board a plane to fly home himself. They knew this was coming, of course. Leaving this place, their time out from their lives, is as necessary as it is unavoidable. They have families, and careers, and friends, they have books, and appearances, pets, and deadlines. All these things that they are responsible for, that simply don't seem to matter as much when they are sucked into the vortex of one another, the way that they always seem to be when they're alone. Balancing out their life together could work with the outside lives they have to lead, it's a delicate act they haven't ever been able to master.

"It's not that I don't want to go, I just don't want to _leave_." He answers truthfully, nudging their bent knees together.

"I know, me either. But you can't tell me that you're not excited."

He is, Darren can't help but smile when he thinks about the new aspect being added into his life. Not for the first time, he finds himself being grateful that hearts are elastic things. Whenever something new comes along, your heart can stretch and make room to love something else, something more, without losing any of the things it already holds. It doesn't matter if it's finding a t-shirt that already fits just right and is worn into soft-cotton perfection, discovering an eighteenth favorite song, or even a brand new tiny person. Hearts just make room.

"I guess I am, yeah," he admits, scooting his hips back an inch to sit even more securely between Chris' strong legs.

"You guess? I've seen what is in your suitcase, you liar."

Darren blinks at that. He had bought the item in question, a little tiny white romper with the words Abbey Road written across the front of it, when they'd been browsing through various gift shops a few days before. It was a silly and impulsive thing. Chris hadn't even noticed him picking it up, paying for it, or stowing the small plastic bag into the corner of his suitcase when they got back to the apartment. Or so he'd thought.

"Have you been snooping through my shit, Colfer?"

Chris scoffs. "No! I was putting your clothes away after I got them out of the dryer, dummy, and it was just there."

 _Uh huh, now who's the liar?_ "Carefully concealed in a shopping bag, crammed into the corner of _my_ suitcase."

"Fine, maybe I was snooping a little bit." Chris hugs both arms around him from behind and laughs quietly into the side of Darren's neck. "You _should_ be excited. It's a big thing. Tell your brother and Lucy I said congratulations, okay?"

Darren's eyes shutter closed as he enjoys the feeling of Chris nuzzling at the tender skin where his neck and shoulder meet, letting out a small, pleased noise. "I could just tell them the gift is from both of us?" He feels it when Chris' body goes stiff behind him and he slowly lifts his face away from the crook of Darren's neck.

"I... maybe that isn't such a great idea." Something in Chris' voice sounds careful all of a sudden, guarded in a way that Darren knows only too well.

"Chris, they already know everything."

"Everything?" The question has an anxious wariness to it.

"Pretty much. I may have left out a few of the dirty details, but for the most part, yeah." He shrugs his shoulders up and down once. "My parents knew all along, there wasn't much point in keeping my brother out of the loop. I'm about as subtle as a freight train when it comes to you, anyway. And you know my mom and her big mouth. They're the last people I want to have to hide from, I guess. Especially this." He slides the toes of one foot down the length of Chris' shin, kneading the muscle beneath the wet skin in an attempt to relax him.

It doesn't work, he can feel the tension in Chris' chest and stomach against his back.

"I haven't said much to my family about all of this." Chris' voice is careful and he releases a long sigh that Darren can feel against the back of his neck. "It's not that I wouldn't tell them if they asked, but we just... don't. That isn't the relationship that I have with my parents. My private life has always been off-limits, and I think they kind of like it that way." He shifts around in the now-cool bathwater. "It's not better or worse than the way things are with your parents, it's just different. I'm going to tell them though, maybe in a few weeks when they come visit. I need to tell them."

He turns so that he can see Chris' face for the first time in almost an hour since they first squeezed into the tiny bathtub. His mouth is set into a serious line of determination that Darren leans in to kiss tenderly. "Tell who you want, how much you want, when you want. As long as what we're doing is making you happy, that's all that fucking matters."

Chris smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "That sounded liked a bad greeting card line." He reaches out and brushes the drying curls back from Darren's forehead. "I am happy, though. The people who matter should know that." Chris looks down at his hand once he untangles it from Darren's hair. "We're pruney and my ass is numb."

Darren pushes himself to stand up in the tub with a quiet groan, water streaming down around his body. He holds his hands out to pull the other man up as well. "Let's go dry off and I'll revive your ass then."

Chris rolls his eyes and climbs out of the tub without assistance. "You wish."

Darren savors the glorious view of Chris' wet, bare back, ass, and thighs, as he grabs the only towel off the bathroom counter and starts using it to dry himself off. No arguments there.

\----

He sits beside the fountain in the back garden letting the golden afternoon light soak into his skin. His body still thrums and aches in the sweetest way imaginable, from the way Chris had shoved his knees up to lay against his chest, buried himself into Darren's body so hard that it was like he was daring someone to tell him to stop. Chris had always been one of the most gorgeous creatures he'd ever seen, but now that he had grown into himself, both body and mind, the sight of him, all red cheeks, darkened blue eyes, and rippling muscle moving above him, it was enough to make the eyes roll back in Darren's head. Even thinking about it now, sitting outside in the sun, goosebumps raise up along the skin of his forearms. Chris had gone at him like a man possessed, trying to claim the body beneath him from the inside out as if he had something to prove. And Darren wasn't about to complain about that, turning and biting down on the skin of his own forearm to quiet the embarrassing wailing sounds Chris was coaxing out of his throat. Chris hadn't stood for that, using the hand not supporting his weight to turn Darren's face back towards him for breathless, brushing kisses that felt out of balance with the rough treatment of their bodies. He was going to be feeling Chris for days.

Darren didn't particularly mind reeking of sex and sweat, he rather liked it actually, so while Chris closed himself off in the bathroom for a second shower, he just pulled back on the wrinkled shirt and jeans from before their bath. He knew how to read Chris as well as anyone in the world could read someone like Chris, sensing when the other man needed room to breathe and time to think, so Darren grabbed his guitar and headed out back.

There isn't an inch of this place that doesn't hold significance for him now. Every wall, every piece of furniture, each plant in this little backyard oasis, has been marked with an imprint of what he and Chris are to each other. From the bed they'd just worshipped each other's bodies in, to the painted blue shutters around the windows outside. This is their place, and he knows that no matter where they are in the world, a part of themselves will be left behind right here. That's why he called and broached the idea to his father about wanting to buy the apartment from his parents. Darren selfishly just can not imagine this place belonging to anyone else, even only on paper. His dad said they'd discuss it once he got to New York and they could sit down together, but he hadn't said no, and that gave him all the hope he needed that his folks would be okay with him taking this place off their hands. 

He likes the thought more than he probably should, the idea of this being the very first thing that's ever belonged to the both of them. Chris would never allow him to make it legal, which he understands, the risk would just be too much. He can't even be sure of how he would react if he knew what kinds of dangerous, big thoughts are going through Darren's mind about it. But he can't not feel an excited warmth tingle through him at the idea of this place actually being _theirs_. Free to do what they wanted to with it, get rid of his mother's God awful paintings, see what parts of himself Chris would want to add. Formally living together wasn't an option for them, but this could be a taste of what that might be like, a conjoining of their lives and spaces, in a place far enough away to be safe for them both. They can't stay here forever, it's a simple fact, but he is already so in love with the idea of having this place to come back to whenever they pleased, that he knew he had to make it happen somehow. After he talks it over with his mom and dad, he'll just have to find a way to get Chris to see things his way. Eventually. He knows Chris is scared and that there is more than ample reason to be, but fear has ruled enough of their lives already, he is ready to take whatever steps forward that they can. It was time to grab a hold of what they _can_ have with both hands and not let go.

A warm, late afternoon breeze filters through the courtyard, rustling the leaves all around him, and blowing too-long curls down into his eyes. He uses the quiet trickling of the fountain behind him to set an easy tempo, closes his eyes, and strums his fingers across the strings.

\----

The decision to tell his parents that he and Darren are together, _really_ together, feels like both a weight lifted and heavily pressed down upon his chest. It's not that he thinks they won't approve, he had never sought out anyone's approval in this part of his life, and doesn't intend to start now. No, it's more just the idea of opening up this most private part of himself to anyone, isn't something he is naturally comfortable with. Not even his own family. It's just who he is, or isn't, as the case may be.

But Darren is right. If they have any hope of making a real and lasting relationship work, out of all the ups and downs, they can't hide from the very few people that they don't _have_ to hide from. So, he will just tell them. He tries to tell himself that the idea doesn't make him as nervous as it actually does.

After his shower he walks into the kitchen for a drink, dressed in nothing but the white cotton towel wrapped around his hips. They have plans to go out later to a little cafe they discovered the last time they were here, and he still needs to work on his hair before it dries into a thick, unmanageable mess. There is no sense in them both looking homeless. His plan is to just grab a can of Diet Coke from the refrigerator before retreating back into the bathroom, but he pauses with his hand on the handle of the door when he hears the quiet sounds of music coming from outside. The kitchen door hadn't been pushed hard enough and stands open a few inches, allowing the melody to stream inside.

Chris sneaks a peek through the kitchen window. Darren sits out back in the garden with his favorite old acoustic guitar sitting across his lap. He looks so right here, the sunlight gleaming down and casting a halo onto his dark hair, his eyes fixed downwards, and face set in heavy concentration as he tries to remember the right set of chords to bring music out of the wood, and metal strings. When his voice joins in with the notes he plays, Chris can't help but fall just a little bit more in love than the millisecond before.

_"Don't wish it away_  
 _Don't look at it like it's forever_  
 _Between you and me, I could honestly say_  
 _That things can only get better..."_

The slowed down, bluesy way that Darren sings the lyrics makes it hard for Chris to recognize it at first. Something hot and thick spreads inside his chest when he does.

_"And while I'm away_  
 _Dust out the demons inside_  
 _And it won't be long before you and me run_  
 _To the place in our hearts where we hide..."_

He belts out the words in his smooth, lower register, pouring every ounce of passion and fire that he possesses in his body into the song, even when he thinks that no one can hear him.

_"And I guess that's why they call it the blues_  
 _Time on my hands could be time spent with you_  
 _Laughing like children, living like lovers_  
 _Rolling like thunder under the covers_  
 _And I guess that's why they call it the blues..."_

_This_ , this is who Darren is, who he was born to be. Smokey blues voice, soaring melodies, passionate words of love and longing. He was meant to be _this_ , not some pre-packaged, pretty boy bubblegum singer that is more product than artist. This beautiful man was one in a million, in a billion, should never be homogenized into something safe and predictable, and Chris will never understand why on earth anyone would ever want to change that. Trying to extinguish the fire inside of Darren is a crime that Chris won't ever be able to forgive, no one should have the right to control or change him. _No one._

_"Just stare into space_  
 _Picture my face in your hands_  
 _Live for each second without hesitation_  
 _And never forget I'm your man_

_Wait on me, boy_  
 _Cry in the night if it helps_  
 _But more than ever, I simply love you_  
 _More than I love life itself..."_

His chest feels tight, the bittersweetness of the words rising up in his throat and choking him. Chris feels the heat building behind his eyes and turns away from the window before Darren can catch him watching. He hurries out of the room and shuts himself behind the solitude of the locked bedroom door.

_"Laughing like children, living like lovers_  
 _And I guess that's why they call it the blues..."_

\----

They go out to dinner at the small, hole-in-the-wall cafe. It's dark and they are two of the few people scattered throughout the restaurant, seated at a table in the back along the exposed brick wall. Darren orders the same beef pie and mash with scarily green sauce that he tells  
him is a non-alcoholic parsley liqueur, and tries to goad him into trying at least one bite, but Chris refuses. He can't bring himself to ingest something that looks that much like thick, toxic radioactive sludge that brought about the creation of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. When he explains his reasoning, Darren laughs so loudly that he fears the manager standing just inside the door is going to come swooping in and throw them both out.

The manager does come forward to their table towards the end of the meal, asking if everything was to their liking, and then asking where are they from, upon hearing their accents. Chris' posture stiffens immediately at the question, but Darren just smiles at him brightly and answers honestly. They eye one another across the table having a silent conversation, as the man stands next to their table. 

_What are you doing?_ In a tight smile on Chris' face.

 _It's okay, Chris. He has no idea who we are, the guy is like seventy. We're okay._ In the way Darren reaches out and takes his hand on the tabletop.

Chris watches with an amused smile on his face as Darren carries on a long conversation with the older Englishman. Chris swears that Darren could make lifelong friends with a tree stump. By the time Chris finishes his Yorkshire pudding, Darren is yanking him up from his chair, and pulling him close to his side, so that their new buddy Reginald, can take a picture of them both with Darren's phone.

They're taking the long way back to the apartment, walking through the humid mid-summer night, with their hands swinging loosely between them. Spectrums of rainbow colors from neon signs and lights, play off the soft skin of Darren's face, his cheekbones and forehead, and shine like gem-colored fires in his wide eyes. There is little traffic on the Westminster streets once they pass the park, and Chris finds himself wishing they had farther to go than they do. 

When is the next time they will be able to be out together in the open like this? When will he be able to feel like the only reason he might be judged for holding Darren's hand in his is because they are two men? It's certainly the lesser of two worries in their day to day lives. It seems like an almost small thing compared to the rest of the things stacked against them, even though it is really the root of everything. He sidesteps over a few inches so that their shoulders brush, as they walk down the quiet residential street. Chris is going to take everything that he can get. 

They end up on the couch in just their underwear once they're home, neither of them wanting to lose too much of their time together to the blankness of sleep. The decision not to have sex again is an unspoken but mutually understood thing. One more time feels too much like a send off or parting, and they don't see things that way, at least they don't want to. Tomorrow simply means going to different places to see to other parts of their lives, Chris needs to put some serious work into the next book, and Darren has to go see his family. It's just a pause until they are together again and their conversations pick up right where they left off. Maybe it's idealistic and silly, but this is what works for them.

It's well after two in the morning when Chris realizes Darren hasn't snickered or commented in several minutes on the sketch comedy show they've been watching. 

"Dare?"

There's no response from the heavy body that is half laying on him and half on the edge of the sofa. The TV drones on at a low volume casting blue, violet, and white shadows on the walls, and the top of Darren's head. It's just loud enough to mask the quiet rumbling snores that he can now feel vibrating against his own chest. Chris' face quirks up into a smirk.

"Thought you weren't tired." 

His fingers trail up and down Darren's side, feeling each bump and valley of his ribcage and down to the curve of his hip. Darren's breathing continues on, even and deep, so Chris stretches out his free arm to grab the remote. He hits the power button, plunging the room and the two of them into darkness. 

He could shake Darren awake and have them both go climb into bed, he _should_ do that, but the warm weight of Darren's body on top of his is too much of a comfort to shatter so easily. His neck and back will hate him tomorrow when he has to endure twelve hours on an airplane, but for now, Chris is content to stay where he is. 

"You seem quite comfy, though," he muses out loud, petting at Darren's back again. As if to prove his point even in his sleep, Darren snuffles and rubs the scrape of his jaw against the sensitive skin of Chris' chest. It makes him laugh softly into the dark room, silent but for the ticking of a clock on the mantle. The ticks seem jarringly loud and unwelcome now when he thinks about how few of them he has left before he will have to leave this place. He sighs and looks up at the dark ceiling, if he stares hard enough his imagination can conjure up dragons and monsters flying around up there in the shadows, waiting to fly down and rip his happiness away from him. His arms tighten around the sleeping man in his arms. 

There is something liberating about speaking out loud without having to worry about anyone hearing you or placing any possible judgement on the words. 

"I'm really glad you talked me into coming, I needed this. I needed just you for a while. My head becomes such a crowded place sometimes that I can't hear over my own thoughts screaming at me all at once. It's a lot quieter here. It was a really good idea. Even if I did have to pay for my own return flight. Some sugar daddy you turned out to be." He plays with a single springy curl at the back of Darren's neck. "I wish that I could believe in things as easily as you do, but that just isn't me. I want to believe that all of this will work out okay, Dare, I do. You... you shouldn't have to do all the shit you do. I hate it, I hate it so much that I can't see straight sometimes. I'm angry, but it's not at you. I know that you didn't know what you were getting yourself into. Pissed off as it makes me, I'm trying to learn to live with it, because you're worth that. I'll just have to... accept things, things that aren't my decisions to make. I'm trying." His forehead comes down to rest at the crown of Darren's head, closing his eyes against all the monsters swimming over their heads. "I don't know how to just _say_ all the things that you do, but it doesn't mean I don't want it all just as much. God, love, you don't know bad I hope that you will prove me wrong. Change my mind, okay? Prove it to me?" 

His voice has gone soft and seems small in the silent room by the time he finishes and snuggles back into the pillows to try and get a few hours of rest before they have to be up again.

He'll never know about a pair of gentle hazel eyes that stare out into the darkness, wide awake.

\----

They kiss just inside the front door, as the taxi they called to drive them both to the airport, pulls up to the curb. Chris knows it will be days, not weeks or months, before Darren comes home to L.A. but he still grunts into the shorter man's open mouth to suck up one more of his breaths. Darren's eyes are glazed when they pull away, his lips red and wet. Chris laughs and yanks the knitted beanie farther down over Darren's eyes, mainly to hide the blush on his own cheeks. He pulls a pair of dark sunglasses from the collar of his shirt and pushes them onto his face, it's the small price that must be paid to be able to take a single cab back across the city to Heathrow International. They'll have to separate immediately once they arrive at the massive, crowded airport, exiting the car at different terminals for flights on two different airlines, back to the States. But these next twenty minutes in the taxi, they are _theirs._

"Ready?" Darren asks, hoisting one of his bags onto his shoulder.

Chris isn't, but he nods and pulls out the handle of his rolling suitcase.

The cab driver helps them stow all of their luggage into the trunk, and then they are sliding into the backseat next to each other, hands linked on the vinyl bench seat between them. Chris can't help but look back out of the rear window of the taxi at the brick row house with the bright blue door. 

He is on his way back to California, his house, his four-legged children, his books, his bed, and his world. So why doesn't it feel like he is heading home?


	45. Everything - Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We apologize profusely for the delay in getting this chapter up but this was definitely out of our control. As you may have read, Desi had her wisdom teeth pulled and had a very bad reaction that landed her in the hospital. This chapter you're about to read was written on her tablet, from her hospital bed. I gotta say - Desi is one determined young lady who didn't want to disappoint you guys and delay this any longer. Thanks again for your patience and I hope I'm able to upload this thing properly. Enjoy! -Lynne

Darren snickers down at his phone and makes a quick contact change of his own, where he waits in an uncomfortable metal chair to board his flight to New York.

He was initially relieved to find that Chris had been relatively normal and relaxed all morning, aside from the clear reluctance they both felt to have to leave the place that had become their personal sanctuary away from the eyes and the cares of the rest of the world. He'd shown no indication of the one-sided conversation he had with himself the night before when he thought Darren was asleep. Chris was back to the strong, unbreakable, often unmovable man that he projected to the rest of the world, but Darren knew better. Darren was the one who'd lay his head over the spot where Chris' heart pounded viciously in his chest, while the other man begged the night to change what he believed, to prove to him that what they have is something that can last.

Darren was more determined than ever to prove it to them both.

He settles into seat number three in the very front of the plane, and tries to prepare himself for the nine hour flight ahead, but all he can seem to think about during takeoff, is how all of the blues, greens, and grays of sky, trees, and clouds outside the window don't do a bit of justice to _those_ eyes. It's going to be a very long flight.

\----

Knowing that something huge is happening, and seeing it with your own two eyes are two very different things. Knowing that his family was changing, knowing that his idiot of a brother was going to be a dad, the same brother who used to sit on him until Darren would surrender the remote, and then nervously holding the flesh and blood, tiny proof of that in his arms... It was surreal. Scary, in a way. They were all full and proper adults now. 

After making the requisite jokes about hoping like hell that the kid ends up getting all of her looks from her mom, Darren hugs everyone in the room extra tight. He knows that he has never seen his family any happier than they are right now. His mother is practically vibrating. 

His body is telling him that it's far past midnight, even though it's only early evening here. He's gone out to dinner with his parents at their hotel and he figures that now is as good a time as any to bring back up the subject he and his father had touched on over the phone a few days before.

When his mom wanders off into the bedroom to call yet another relative to recount all of the details for the two thousandth time, he and his dad sit on the small love seat in his parents' hotel room.

He doesn't know why he's nervous, but he wipes his damp hands off on the thighs of his jeans, anyway. It's just that the _idea_ of this is so much...

"Dad, what we talked about..."

"You want to buy the place in London." His dad says it without hesitation or any inflection to give Darren a shred of insight as to what he may think of the idea. He swallows hard.

"Yeah, yeah, I really do."

Why is it that no matter how old you get, your parents can just give you that fucking _look_ , and suddenly you are five years old and just "accidentally" flushed a pair of your mother's pearls down the toilet? His dad's pale colored eyes study his face with a scrutiny that makes Darren squirm inwardly.

"I'm assuming this has something to do with the time you and Chris have been spending over there?"

_You mean being able to spend actual time with the guy I love in a place where we don't have to feel afraid?_ "That assumption would be... fair." Darren's hands play nervously with the hem of his shirt. 

His father has always been the steady quiet fixture in his life, stern, but patiently so. No matter how crazy or obnoxious any of his ideas had ever been growing up, he knew that his parents would ultimately have his back, support him in whatever ways they could. Darren's mother was the warmth. However, the _strength_ , the "think this through" calm voice in the back of his mind, had always been his dad's. It wasn't a voice he always listened to, but he could always count on it to be there. 

His father picks up the cup of tea his mom had forced upon them a few minutes ago. She was always on his dad's back about no coffee after 4 P.M. "Your mom seems to think it's a great idea, signing the town house over to you." His voice is cool, and calm in a way that makes Darren inexplicably feel even more nervous than before.

"You married a pretty sharp woman." The joke sounds brittle even to his own ears, and his throat feels too dry to force out any kind of laugh with it.

"These are major life changes you are talking about making here, Darren." 

He knows, he knows it's all huge and scary. But he also knows that for it to be his life, even in the slightest bit, Chris has to be a major factor in it.

Things like permanence and forever are big and weighty concepts, ones that he knew he couldn't afford to make right now. Not only because of all that he is still hiding, but also because who knew where he would be, how they both would feel, what would happen in a month, in a year, five, forty. He's broken more than enough promises to people he cares about already, and broken even more to himself.

But there is another big, heavy concept that Darren _can_ commit to, and that is everything. His everything. He has always been kind of a “jump in with both feet” type of guy. When he is in, he is all in. He can offer up every ounce of everything within him while he has the chance to, and only hope that it's enough. 

And if a part of that can be offering them both a place where they have nothing to hide, where they can shed the skins they have to wear all of the time, either separately or together, he wants that. He wants to give Chris all of the tiny everythings that he can.

Now he's just got to figure out how to explain that to his father. Preferably without making himself look like the heartsick asshole he knows that he is.

"Dad, I wouldn't ask you if-"

"Stop." His father sets his cup down on the small table beside him and lets out a heavy sigh. Darren can read the concern in his eyes, and he doesn't fault him for it. "You know that I want you to have everything you have ever wanted. I also know you are being a little manipulator for asking me for this when you know we are all so deliriously happy that it's hard to say no to anything. Wouldn't expect anything less from you, you're an actor, son. So you can put the sad little boy lost eyes away. I know what kind of pressure you live under, you and Chris both for that matter. I just want you to really think here. You know that anything you have with him, it's never going to be fully your own, don't you? It could never be normal."

The ship for normal has long since sailed. "When in the hell has normal ever meant a damn thing to me, Dad? I love him. I love him and no matter how this ends up, my life won't ever be what it was before he came into it. I wouldn't want it to be."

He watches his father watch him as several silent seconds pass between them. Finally he reaches out and grasps his shoulder tightly. "Not many fathers get to see both of their sons so happy at once. If you want it, the place is yours. I'll call and have my lawyer draw up the papers as soon as I get home."

Darren has to sit back in his seat and blink his eyes several times for the news to properly sink in. "You're serious?"

His dad laughs in that echoey booming way of his. "Your mother _told_ me to start the paperwork as soon as you first mentioned the idea. I don't even think I was given the option of an opinion on the matter. I just wanted you to do a little groveling first." His dad smiles at him over the rim of his cup. "Your mom, she really likes him. We both want you to be happy with your life, no matter how that has to happen, son. I do have one condition though."

Darren knows his smile must be idiotically big as he rushes at his father, and throws his arms around his neck like he truly was five. "Anything! I'll pay you guys whatever the place is worth, and even-"

His dad laughs out loud, cutting him off, and slapping his youngest son on the back. "Just make sure you burn those horrendous fruit paintings your mom has hanging in the sitting room. I really don't want those things ending up at my house."

They both laugh until Darren's mother walks back into the room, cell phone still in hand, and gives them both a withering look. 

Nothing could wipe the grin from his face now.

\----  
The next couple of days pass in a blur of ecstatic smiles, loud music, and roaring crowds. He gets a text message from a friend of a friend who invites him to join her on stage during her huge show in Central Park the following night. It may not be his own sold-out gig at Madison Square Garden and there is sadly no magical endless bag of Doritos, but the audience is so massive, and the energy is so high, that he can't help but be reminded of his Mirror of Erised fantasy, and texts Chris from the side of the stage.

The reply back is immediate, and he is promptly told to shave and stop wearing his newborn niece's t-shirts.

God, he fucking loves that man.

Knowing that Chris is having to buckle down at home and catch up on all the work he'd missed while they had been in London, Darren spends a couple of days with his family in New York, and then decides to check out a music festival up in Montreal for a few more days. It's seductively easy with his unkempt beard grown back in and non-flashy clothes to just blend in with all of the other thousands of twenty-somethings wandering around from stage to stage with a beer in hand, lost in a crowd without a care in the world. He is spotted and asked to pose for a picture a few times, that is unavoidable. But he finds himself asking the friendly enough fans to hold off for a day or two to spread them online. It's simply too nice to be able to just _be_ for a while.

There's another reason for his reluctance to just hurry up and head home. Reports have reached his team about the way he had freely mentioned Chris' name at the convention, and that in addition to his dropping off the radar to spend an extra week in London, meant they were on his back. Again. He knows that as soon as he goes home, he'll no sooner touch down at the airport then they will have some preordained event he'll need to go to for the sake of keeping up appearances. 

Be here, Darren. Smile bigger, Darren. Be seen with the right people, Darren.

It was exhausting, and provided very little incentive to ever go home to L.A. and if situations were different, maybe one day it would all just become too much, and he would finally say "fuck it" and just walk away.

But that same city just so happened to also hold the single brightest light in the world to him, so Darren checks his bag, and gets on the plane to go home.

\----

He was right, of course. That was how he found himself rushing to his own house, which feels nearly as alien to him now as another planet, to shower and get ready to go out and show his face in public. His mood is... not the best. The last thing he wants to do after spending his day in crowded airports and planes, is head straight back out to a packed show at The Bowl. He'd had no less than six messages from his manager insisting that he make an appearance, and knew he would never hear the end of it if he didn't. The tickets will be waiting for him at the will call window, giving him, giving _them_ , plenty of opportunity to be spotted. 

He flops back onto his bed with a sigh. He never noticed how uncomfortable it was until he began spending so many of his nights _elsewhere_. Or maybe no matter where he slept, sleeping next to Chris would just automatically feel about five thousand times better than anywhere else. He grabs the phone from where he'd thrown it down on the bed next to him, and dials.

"You've reached a man and his very, _very_ bad dog who is trying to eat my shoe. Coop, no!" Chris' laughing voice is breathless like he is literally struggling with the dog as he answered the call. "Hang on a sec." Darren can hear the phone being slammed down or dropped before he has a chance to open his mouth. He can hear Chris' bright voice from far away through the phone, but can't make out the words. He just closes his eyes and focuses on the sound while he waits. He hears rustling as the phone is picked back up. "Hey, sorry."

"Hi." 

"Uh oh, that isn't a happy hi. What is it? Did you get delayed?"

The fact that Chris can read him in a simple two lettered word, is just this extraordinary thing that neither of them pay any true attention to, it just _is_.

"No, I'm home. It's just Ricky is on my ass about being out of contact, so he's making a big deal about me going to see Hair tonight." He sighs, wishing he could exhale out all of the frustrations in him with the carbon-dioxide, and looks up at his plain, white ceiling.

"And I'm guessing he doesn't want you to go by yourself." Chris' tone is completely neutral. Both of them know it isn't a question.

"Yeah." In what could quite possibly be the most passive aggressive form of rebellion in the history of him being a chicken shit, he'd decided to invite two other friends along to use the box seats for the show, to make it look a little less like the romantic date night under the stars he knew it was orchestrated to be. Oops. And he wasn't even going to shave or try to even look like he gave a damn. Was it immature? Yeah. Juvenile? Probably. But honestly, Darren doesn't give a flying fuck.

 

"So, go." Chris' calm voice through the phone brings him back to himself. "The girls would love to have you there supporting them. Just try to enjoy yourself."

Darren's bottom lip twitches like it does when he’s fighting a pout. "I'd rather see you."

"I know." Chris' voice is almost smug at the confession.

"And you're _sure_ that you have plans you can't blow off for tonight?"

"I'm sure." Chris confirms immediately.

_Damn._ "Well, can't blame a guy for trying." He sits up on the end of his bed, scratching at his shower-damp curls that will be a nightmare if he doesn't get some kind of product into them soon. 

"Go." Chris' voice orders, almost like he can see Darren sitting and sulking. "Get ready. The sooner you get this done, the sooner you can come over here and charm the fur off my cat. He still isn't speaking to me."

"Well, it's not my fault I'm his favorite." Darren grins a little and walks over to his closet to find a pair of shoes to wear. He can't help but tease a little when Chris only laughs. "Do I get to charm the fur off of his Dad, too? Because that's more my kinda thing."

Chris snorts loudly. "You did not just say that! Oh my God, Darren."

He stands there in the middle of his closet, in his dark shirt and boxers, holding a pair of expensive loafers in one hand. "If it makes you smile like you are right now, then my knack for cheesiness is a worthwhile life skill, after all."

The laugh that he hears Chris make through the speaker is a warm, softer thing. "I sort of like your cheese, I guess. Five days without it was too long. I've missed it." Neither of them need Chris to say what he means, _This is **your** smile. I've missed you. _

\----

He sits with his three friends in one of the lower boxes in the huge colosseum. It's the final night of the short-run show, and the place is packed. He smiles and shakes hands as he is supposed to do, making sure he is seen with the proper people. It's funny, he can't pinpoint the exact time when the line between work, networking, and socializing became so blurry that he lost the ability to distinguish it altogether. But he has. So much of his life has become about obligation, that it's no wonder that he holds the time that is truly _his_ so precious.

It's just after the intermission when the lights go up and the roar of the people chatting around them becomes so loud that he can hardly hear himself think, when he feels his phone begin to vibrate in the pocket of his pants.

He almost feels badly, _almost_ , for the way that he tells the fans waiting for him outside, that he can't stop for pictures and autographs. 

"Guys, I'm really sorry but it's late and I've got to drive my friends home." _And then hurry off back across town to the most beautiful man in the world whose skin my lips haven't touched in days._

Okay, fine. Maybe he doesn't feel bad at all.

\----

He holds himself together long enough to drop all of his friends off at their respective homes, before the cracks in his composure really start to show. He rips the first few buttons of his collar free, feeling choked by the material near his throat, and his hands clench around the steering wheel.

He knew he was overreacting, but he could feel the tension oozing from his pores. The fucking wrongness and falsehoods felt sharper, like cutting blades, after having been away from it all for a short while. Going from the real and warmth and genuineness of being around Chris to _this_ , it was a shock to his system and was quickly causing him to shut down. Being away together like they were makes it so easy to pretend that all of the hiding, and everything that is expected of him, doesn't exist. But it does, it's real and it's not going anywhere any time soon. 

Tonight was nothing, _nothing_ , compared to some of the things they have had him do, will continue to make him say, but still feels like more than he can take.

By the time he gets to Chris' house, he is tense and agitated. This certainly isn't the way that he wants to greet Chris for the first time in almost a week. He takes a moment to stand outside the door, dropping his forehead to lean against the wood. 

_He doesn't need to see you like this. Get your shit together. Breathe._

He doesn't need to bring this funk he is in, inside to Chris, he won't. He draws in a deep breath and knocks.

Chris' looks bewildered, but amused as he opens the door. His hair is still damp from a recent shower, probably as soon as he got home from the show, and he is dressed in sweats and a plain white tank top that shows every delicious curve of his shoulders and arms. His pink lips are half smiling, his eyes just shadows in the dark foyer, and he looks like a kind of right and perfection that Darren just wants to bury his face into and never have to look up again.

"Do not tell me you lost your keys." 

The comment is said as a joke, but until Chris mentions it, it doesn't even cross Darren's mind. At once, both of their eyes travel down to Darren's hand where a ring of keys is clenched tightly in his fist, including the gold one that fits Chris' front door.

Seeing it there seems to set off some series of rapid fire thoughts in Chris' mind, expressions changing and cycling in his face, far faster than Darren would ever be able to read. 

"I... sorry," he finally mumbles, taking a shuffling half step forward through the open door.

Chris wraps his hand around Darren's that is still squeezing the set of metal keys. As soon as the front door is closed and locked behind them, he prys Darren's fingers from around them, and lays the keys on the side table by the door.

Without another word, Chris leads him into the house, and up the stairs. When they get to Chris' bedroom, he turns off the lights and pushes Darren to sit on the side of his bed. He goes along with it all like a rag doll, like all of the energy has been drained from his body. Chris sits beside him and begins to knead his thumbs into and across the palm of Darren's hand, massaging away the reddish indents left behind by the keys. This goes on for several silent moments.

"Talk to me." 

Darren sighs. How? How does he explain that being so happy with him made him feel so unprepared for the least bit of unhappiness, without seeming like a total asshole? 

Chris' eyes look like liquified starlight in the dimly lit bedroom. Darren remembers randomly that all stars are a sun, and each has its own powerful force of gravity. Must be true, because Chris' eyes pull the truth straight from him.

"I just know that it's going to get worse. They're going to want me to go out and do and say all of these things that aren't fucking _me_ at all. And I'll just play along like a good little puppet. Yes, sir. No, sir. Whose ass am I kissing now, sir?" He irritatedly slides both hands through his hair, pulling at the curls when his fingers get caught. "They want me to be all of these things that I'm not, and it's getting hard to even know when to turn it off, Chris. I forget when I'm talking to people if I am supposed be the real me, or fake me or whatever the shit. My music is only half me. My friends, my fucking _family_. God, even you. You all have to deal with knowing a real me and a fake me and keep track of which is which. Something that even I can't do sometimes. I just..." He trails off looking down at the stupidly expensive Italian shoes that he knows for a fact he hadn't ever picked out for himself. 

Chris is quiet for a minute, letting the pace of their breathing match and sync in the dark room before he speaks again. "What do _you_ want, Dare?" The question is simple, but riddled with so many possible falls.

"Make some music. Do something more in the world than just take up space. Be with you." When it all came down to it, those were the things he believed in, the things he wanted most.

Chris' arm is warm when it circles around his waist, and he smells clean, like fresh laundry and some kind of green botanical soap. "And no matter what else happens, or what anyone tells you to do, can anyone actually stop you from doing any of those? I know they can make it seem harder sometimes, but can they _stop_ you from doing those things?"

He closes his eyes and focuses in on the feel and smell of Chris around him, with him. "I really hope not."

Chris pushes hard on his shoulders until he is laying back on the bed staring up at his lover, lit only by grayish and purple shadows. Even in the low light, when Chris swings one leg across his thighs to sit on his legs, Darren can tell he's smiling. "I know they can't. I know you too well. Like right now." Chris reaches and pushes at the side of Darren's pouty lower lip with his finger. "I know that when you stare at my mouth like that, you want me to lean down and kiss you."

Darren blinks up at Chris once before he does just that. Fitting their lips together perfectly with his, the lightest brush of Chris' wet, warm tongue is just enough to have Darren's lips chasing his, when he sits back up. 

If Chris was smiling before, he looks like the Cheshire Cat now. "That grunting little pissed off noise you just made? That is the real you. I know pretty much every part, Dare."

Darren lays back and enjoys the view as the gorgeous man sitting atop him slowly works to remove first his shoes, socks and belt, and then sets to work on the buttons of his shirt.

"I know if I kiss and suck on this little spot on the side of your neck..." Chris’ mouth is wet but feather-soft and light on the area in question, teasing instead of biting and sucking, creating the dark purple marks Darren knows Chris likes so much.

Chris moves down his chest. "All this thick hair that grows up along here, I hate it when they make you wax it all. I like how it tickles my lips and my cheeks. And these tiny little nipples." Chris tilts his head to one side to look up at Darren's panting face while he traces the tip of his pink tongue over one of the small, brown spots. "These are definitely all you."

Okay, the man was going to torture him tonight. Darren closes his eyes with a loud groan.

"And these..." Chris' voice has gone gravelly as he begins to pull at the fly of Darren's shorts until he has them undone. He peppers kisses from the outside of Darren's hip, lightly trailing along the V made by his hip bones, first one side, and then the other, until his nose and lips are pushing at the gray elastic band of Darren's underwear, to expose the trimmed black hair beneath. "These have always been one of my favorites." He grins, dragging his mouth back up the right side.

Darren can't do anything but lay back, fingers clenched in Chris' thick down comforter, and whimper up at the ceiling, when he feels Chris begin to skim the fingers of one hand up and down the hard ridge of his cock, making it swell and throb where it is still trapped inside his shorts. "That part isn't me," he finally hisses through his teeth as he watches Chris bend and place sweet little kisses to the rise of his balls through his underwear. "That is _all_ you. You caused that one." 

Chris sits back up with a mischievous grin.

"I know, just like I _know_ that right now you're thinking about having me ride you and eventually coming all over your stomach. A mess that you will, in fact, make me go clean up because coming turns you into a lazy ass." Chris can't even make it through to the end of his little speech without leaning down to press their smiling mouths together.

Darren pulls back, wide-eyed. "You serious?"

Chris is already kneeling up over him. He lifts his clingy, white tank top over his head, mussing up his hair and exposing his sculpted, smooth chest to Darren's hungry gaze. "Do I look serious?" He lifts his leg from over Darren's hips to wriggle out of his loose sweat pants, and Darren can see his half-hard dick bobbing jerkily in front of his body with his movements.

He pushes up on his elbows, watching Chris walk around to the end of the bed and hurriedly yank his cargo shorts and underwear down his legs. Chris grins up at him through the fallen fringe of his bangs, and Darren doesn't think he's ever seen the man look sexier. Chris begins to crawl up the bed towards him to settle over his hips. Darren's hands automatically come to settle on either side of Chris' waist. When Chris rocks his hips down to rub their erections together, Darren gasps and his hands spasm wildly. 

Chris is already leaning forward, pressing their chests together and roving his lips around the lower part of Darren's face to find his mouth. He can feel it when Chris takes his cock into his hand and begins groping around for a condom underneath his pillow. 

_Someone was fucking prepared._

Darren doesn't know how much however, until he lets his fingers drift down Chris' back to his gorgeous ass, only to find him already wet and softened there. "F-fuck, you...?"

"In the shower, on your way over here. Kiss me." Chris aligns their bodies with a breathless laugh.

Chris has the best ideas about _everything._


	46. Better - Chris and Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta moments: "Hehe..."  
> "Oh God, Desi just did her evil laugh."  
> "What? No I didn't, that was Lynne!"  
> "I didn't laugh. What?"  
> "Well, _I_ didn't hehe!"  
>  "Wait, so who hehe'd?"  
> "..."  
> "..."

It's a conscientious decision, it has to be. He's been working on the next book all week, trying to churn out at least half a chapter a day. And Darren... Darren is always doing about three things at once. Meetings, setting up for appearances, fittings, cramming in a couple of hours in the recording studio. Even just _thinking_ about his schedule makes Chris exhausted. They try to see each other every day, but sometimes that means Darren walking through his door at 11:19, eating the plate of takeout that Chris had left for him in the fridge, cold without heating it up, and then they both pretty much collapse into bed. Which is exactly what happened the night before.

They both have obligations, people and things that are waiting on them, they probably always will. When his body's internal clock wakes him up at just after seven in the morning, he makes the decision. Neither of them have anything life or death today, so why the hell not? The only way they're going to get a breather this week is to make it for themselves. Chris takes both of their phones and one at a time, powers them off, leaving them both lying on top of his dresser. Today means no calls, no appointments, no emails, they were going off the grid. 

He tells Darren as much when he slips back into the bed beside him, hoping that he won't be told that it's impossible, and he has to be somewhere. When the other man's only response is a sleepy grunt and instinctual backwards shift of his hips so that Chris' chest is once again molded along the curve of Darren's spine, he smiles into the messy head of dark hair. It's the first time Chris sleeps in his own bed past noon as long as he can remember.

He wakes alone in the wrinkled sheets, eyes widening and his mind scrambling for comprehension when he sees the late hour on the clock beside his bed. Sleeping this late isn't a luxury he is often afforded, and sleeping later than Darren is something new entirely. His bathroom door stands partially open, and the humid air that seeps through it into his bedroom suggests evidence of a very recent shower. Chris clearly slept later than Darren, but not by much. 

He crawls out of bed and into the hallway wearing only the black boxer briefs he slept in, the night before. The thermostat had been messed with, Chris can feel it's been set lower than his own preferred seventy-six degrees, and he rolls his eyes. He always does this, no matter how many times Chris has tried to explain that sixty-five degrees in the middle of August, in Southern California, isn't even a physical possibility. 

It isn't until he starts down the stairs that he begins to feel the slightest tinge of unease. He can't hear the usual racket of the TV or radio blaring from downstairs. Darren doesn't _do_ peace and quiet, not total silence, anyway. 

_If he left without..._

The scowl barely has time to settle across Chris' face, when he rounds the corner into his kitchen and sees the other man sitting crosslegged underneath the table. The chairs on one side have been shoved back and left haphazardly angled in the middle of the floor, and Darren is sitting with a bright, yellow plastic bag in one hand, apparently having a staring match with his unimpressed looking cat.

"What in the hell, Darren?"

It's obvious that Darren hadn't heard Chris' bare feet on the stairs or the floor, approaching from behind, when he jumps at the sound of the unexpected voice behind him, straightening up, and smacking his head on the underside of the wooden table hard enough to make Chris flinch at the sound.

"Jesus, fuck! _Ow!_ " Darren slowly crawls out from under the table, one hand clasped down on the crown of his head. He hit it hard enough to knock over the salt shaker on top of the table, spilling a few scattered white grains across the dark colored wood. "Morning." He grumbles, still rubbing his hand in circles against the spot where he'd hit.

"Actually, it's not. It's 12:30." He moves around Darren to grab two glasses from the cabinet, and then a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator. He looks back up at Darren who is now sitting in one of the pulled out chairs and prodding at the top of his skull for damage, pouting. "Aside from nearly killing yourself, what were you doing down there?" Setting one of the glasses of juice down on the table in front of him, Chris turns the salt shaker right-side up, and sits down in the other empty chair. He isn't sure he wants to know, but figures it at least has to be worth a laugh.

Darren's shoulders shrug up and back down once. "I was _trying_ to make nice with your damn cat since you were sleeping, and he wouldn't have shit to do with me. I figured if I stuffed him full of treats, he'd like me again." Darren bends down to look under the table at Brian who still sits below, looking utterly unfazed by their conversation, several brown pet treats sitting untouched in front of him.

Chris hears Darren mutter a quiet "fucker" under his breath. 

Rolling his eyes, Chris stretches out and grabs the abandoned bag from the floor where Darren dropped it when he hurt himself. "That might be because these are the dog's treats, moron. See? Little doggie on the bag and everything." He smirks and places the bag on the table directly in front of the other man, before leaning back in his chair and picking up his own juice.

Darren looks comically like a scolded toddler with his wide round eyes, messy curls, and pouty mouth. Chris would be lying if he said it wasn't an attractive look on him. The asshole.

"They're made out of the same shit." He defends himself weakly, only making Chris snicker louder. "I just hurt myself and you’re sitting there laughing at me. So nice to know you care, Colfer." 

Darren shoves away from the table like he means to walk away in actual offense, but is stopped when Chris reaches out and loops both arms around his waist. Still seated, Chris' face is level with Darren's stomach, which he leans in and kisses through a soft, black cotton t-shirt that he suddenly recognizes as one of his own. Well, that explains why it fits Darren so loosely, only further making him look so appealingly adorable this morning. "Sorry," he rests his chin against Darren's body looking up at him. "You okay?"

Chris can read the playful spark in those golden brown eyes when Darren's full lips twitch at the corners. "My head really hurts. I think I'm going to have a bump because of you."

"Because of _me_? I didn't tell you to crack your head open trying to-" he swallows down the rest of his defense, when he hears how screechy his own voice sounds, and instead stands up with a put upon sigh. He moves his arms from around Darren's waist, to take his head between both of his hands, tilting it down. Chris bites back a grin at the natural part in the back of Darren's crazy hair where his curls separate and his scalp shows through them. He'd never say anything, knowing fully well how sore of a subject this one tiny flaw is to Darren. It's not like Chris doesn't have plenty enough of his own. It probably says something that instead of annoying, he finds the older man's touchiness over the subject endearing. He leans in and presses a loud kiss to the top of Darren's head, where there is in fact, no bump. "Better?"

"No, a little to the right."

Chris rolls his eyes and kisses another spot.

"Now?"

"Still hurts."

Chris huffs out a laugh, the exhalation of his breath moving around Darren's air-dried black hair. He pecks three more random kisses to either side, and finally one on Darren's forehead. They're both smiling at the absurdity of the moment. "Fine, you're healed. Now, I'm hungry."

"Wait." Darren grabs at the back of Chris' neck with one hand, and points to the corner of his own grinning mouth with the other, his teeth glowing white in the afternoon sun streaming in through the kitchen window. "Kinda hurts here, too."

Chris places both his hands on Darren's shoulders and shoves him a step away with an exasperated impatient noise. Really? Sometimes he questions how this man can be real, and his own sanity.

"This isn't a rom-com, Dare. Move." Without thinking, he reaches up and smacks Darren in the back of the head like he normally does when his cheesiness hits a level Chris deems intolerable for grown men. Which is quite often.

Only now it makes Darren jump back and clutch the spot on his head again.

" _Shit!_ Ouch, you jackass!"

Okay, maybe there was a little bump.

"Sorry." Chris sheepishly begins pulling a container of sliced turkey and cheese from the fridge.

\----

Chris eventually trudges back upstairs to change into his favorite pajama pants and another old t-shirt, and they spend most of the afternoon on the couch. He isn't entirely sure how many minutes and hours pass by while Darren's lips alternately brush and attack his, but Chris knows he has a serious case of beard-burn across the lower half of his face and his neck. Ashley was going to give him shit for that if it doesn't clear up quick. Perhaps Chris would have been less concerned with the scrape from Darren's stubble, if he was able to notice the dark purple bruise being bitten and sucked into his fair skin right behind his ear. He'll be wearing hats for days.

Chris lays with his head comfortably pillowed on Darren's chest, playfully shoving one another's feet off the end of the couch from time to time to claim the rights to the last cushion. They pick and choose their way through the backlog on Chris' DVR, finding nothing of real interest, before pulling up Netflix to find a movie. They are only about fifteen minutes into Gremlins, when Darren finally notices Chris is paying more attention to him, than he is to the movie.

"What are you thinking?" Darren asks apprehensively, sitting up a little, and taking in Chris' overly bright eyes and smirking lips. "You've got that _look_. That evil little 'What I'm about to say is gonna piss you the hell off, but I'm gonna fucking say it, anyway' look."

Chris can't deny it. The resemblance is striking. Small, furry, big, round eyes. "Well, he does look kind of like he could be a distant relative of yours," he admits, cutting his eyes back to Gizmo on the TV screen with an impish grin.

Chris watches Darren's mouth open and close a few times as he sputters for an appropriate response, his smile growing wider and more amused by rendering the other man speechless. He tries to push himself with his elbows to fully sit up on the couch, but Chris places both hands on Darren's chest and keeps him pressed down into the cushions.

"You did _not_ just call me a gremlin."

Chris snickers at Darren's narrowed eyes and laughable approximation of an angry glare. "Technically, I called you a Mogwai."

"What's the fucking difference?" Darren scoffs and squirms again, and Chris can't tell if he is really trying to free himself or just feigning for the sake of his pride.

"One is a small, fuzzy creature who simply shouldn't ever eat after midnight or get wet, and the other is a green, slimy monster who wreaks havoc on the human population." Chris is matter-of-fact in his explanation, and leans down to kiss Darren's pouty mouth, only to be rebuked when Darren turns his face away, and the kiss lands on the side of his face instead.

"I'll show you a wet, slimy monster."

The comment makes Chris snort loudly and hide his face in the padded back of the couch. "T-that," he tries, but has to take a breath to control his laughter, feeling tears almost spring up into his eyes. "That has to be the worst euphemism I've ever heard. Even from _you_." He shakes his head and cranes his head down to nip at Darren's chin, tugging at the coarse black hair with his teeth. 

"Not a fucking gremlin..." Darren's eyes are back on the television screen, but Chris can see him fighting a smile.

After the movie ends, Chris groans as he climbs off of Darren, and the couch.. He stretches his arms above his head, revealing several inches of creamy, white skin above the waistband of his plaid pajama pants. His hair is a tousled mess, having not even bothered to shower yet. He doesn't hear Darren complaining though, if anything the other man spent more time than usual cuddling their bodies as closely together as humanly possible. 

"I need to go get the mail," he announces with a sigh, letting his arms falls back down to his sides with a flop, his voice is forlorn and heart broken at the thought of having to walk the short distance to the front door out to the mailbox beside his driveway. It's just _so far_ , and Chris can't remember ever feeling quite so lazy.

If he expects any kind of assistance or even sympathy from Darren, he is sadly mistaken. The asshole doesn't even get up off the couch. "You could pay someone to do-"

"Don't start."

He rolls his eyes, and makes his way over to the door. The trek back up the stairs to his room seems like an insurmountable feat at the moment, so instead of searching for his own shoes, his eyes fall on Darren's raggedy-looking blue flip flops he had kicked off just inside the door. They'll be a size too small, but Chris figures they will work long enough to make it to the mailbox and back. 

The late afternoon sun is so bright when he first steps outside, that it makes his eyes water and he squints them nearly shut. He somehow manages to make it all the way to the end of the drive, half-blind, without incident. He gathers up the small stack of bills, catalogs, and junk mail that actually comes to his home address, and starts to make his way back up the driveway, when he stumbles and finds himself falling face first towards the concrete. Chris catches himself on his hands and one knee with only minimal injury. He is dazed and looks down to see what on earth could have made him trip, when he sees that the prong of one of Darren's flip flops has ripped through the hole, causing it to slip off of his foot. On closer inspection, it's clear this has happened many times, given that there is tape on the bottom of the shoe where someone has tried to keep the plastic piece in place.

Chris groans to himself, picks up the the mail that had gone flying from his hand when he had fallen, and trudges up the rest of the way to the house wearing only one blue flip flop. 

Darren is still laying in the exact spot on the couch where Chris left him. He looks up when Chris storms back into the room and gives him a withering look. 

"Would you care to tell me why someone who has as much money as you do, wears broken flip flops? Really, Darren?" 

Darren snorts and rolls his eyes, picking the TV remote back up from where he dropped it onto his chest when Chris rushed in. "They're not broken, they're well-loved. I've had those since sophomore year." He says calmly, like that should explain everything, going back to the DVR menu.

Chris just stands there and stares at him for a moment. Usually he was pretty understanding of Darren's free, eccentric, borderline-hippie ways, but _this_ was just a bit much. This guy who was laying sprawled out on his couch in a borrowed t-shirt that was two sizes two big for him, with two weeks worth of beard on his face, and wears broken rubber flip flops because there was a faded logo from his former college. This man was the face of a men's grooming company? It is one of the most ironic, laughable things he has ever heard. This guy, the one who was eating unheated cinnamon and brown sugar pop tarts out of the shiny, silver wrapper, sings Disney and Hanson songs in the shower, and has utterly and completely wormed his way so deeply under Chris' skin, that he knows there is no way of ever getting him out. 

This guy, Darren. 

It's suddenly a little more than Chris can handle, and he feels like the room lacks enough oxygen, despite the air-conditioner still chugging along at the cooler than usual temperature Darren had set it to earlier that morning. He'd done that not for the sake of mere comfort, but just to give them an excuse to sit that much closer to one another. 

"It's stupid. I'm going to go take a shower." Chris says dropping the broken blue sandals onto his coffee table and hurrying out of the room, up the stairs, without looking back at the knowing golden eyes that watch him go.

\----

Darren is only halfway through a pre-recorded episode of Mythbusters, when he hears a muffled sound of displeasure, followed by a loud thud coming from the direction of Chris' bedroom above him. He'd seen the slightly manic look in the other man's eyes just before Chris nearly bolted up the stairs, and knew him well enough to know that meant Chris was feeling overwhelmed by whatever was happening inside his own head. So Darren didn't follow him.

That was something he might have done in the past, forced his way in when Chris clearly needed time and space to breathe, demanding to know what was going on with him. In the end, the only thing that had ever gained Darren was more distance between them, and Chris shutting down even more than before. There were so many reasons their relationship hadn't worked back then, everything they felt was just so much and happened so fast, and every time he tried to fix something, it had only ended up more broken than it began.

But things were different now, _they_ were different, older, better. Their hearts and bodies react to each other in exactly the same ways that they always have, but now they know enough about their connection to know how to take care of it, of each other. Just like he knows from way that the loud slamming and frustrated noises go on for several minutes, Darren knows Chris isn't pushing or warning him away, he is beckoning him in.

He climbs the stairs carefully, cautiously, not entirely sure of what he will find when he steps through the doorway to Chris' bedroom. There are shirts, folded up pairs of underwear, and other various articles of clothing strewn across the bed and on the floor beside it. Chris is standing at his tall dresser, yanking things out and tossing them over his shoulder in the direction of the bed with irritated, jerky movements. His hair is still wet from his shower and dripping down onto the dark tank top that clings to his flushed-pink upper body like a second skin.

God, it is just unfair for _anyone_ to look like that.

"Okay, what's-" Darren doesn't finish when Chris suddenly turns on him.

"This second drawer, this is your drawer from now on." Chris even turns and slaps the wooden bottom of the now-empty dresser drawer for effect, before turning back to Darren. "I am sick and tired of trying to put on socks and underwear only to find that they don't fit because they're _yours_. You don't live here, but half of your stuff does. You have more ass than I do. Your underwear go in your own drawer from now on."

Darren's forehead crinkles in confusion, and he can't help but turn and try to get a look at his own backside after the comment. "Are you saying I have a fat ass?" 

Chris sighs and flops down to sit on the foot of his bed, knocking a few pairs of socks and boxers off and onto the floor in the process. All of the steam seems to have seeped out of him during his short rant. He closes his eyes and rubs at his hair, now simply agitated. "I like your ass just fine, what I don't like is mixed up laundry."

Darren smirks and scoops up what he can see is clearly a small pile of his own briefs and t-shirts thrown on the floor beside the dresser. "You know, if it's a problem for you, no one said you even had to wear any underwear at all, Colfer."

"Darren..." The warning is clear in Chris' non-amused tone even without the icy glare that accompanies it.

"Right, move my shit to its own drawer. Got it." He hurries about moving the rest of his things into the drawer, actually surprised by just how much of his stuff has ended up unintentionally living at Chris' place over the past few months. It's not just his underwear and a few stray socks and t-shirts. Several pairs of his favorite worn in jeans hang in Chris' closet, his spare phone charger is plugged in beside the bed, a box of the herbal tea he likes seems to have a permanent spot on top of the microwave in the kitchen, even one of his guitars has made a home for itself in Chris' office, propped up right beside the desk.

Chris eventually stands back up, and together they shuffle his clothing and belongings around to make room for the small parts of Darren that reside in the room now.

Darren looks at Chris out of the corner of his eye as the other man moves a small stack of shirts from his dresser to an open cardboard box in his closet. He knows without either of them saying a word, that this is so much more than Chris having an aversion to mixed up underwear. This is Chris taking it upon himself to give this tiny piece of real estate in his life to someone else. It's not something that he does easily. To anyone else it's just a stupid dresser drawer, to them, it might as well be the whole world.

Darren presses his lips to Chris' shoulder when he comes to stand next to him again. 

"Thanks."

Chris just looks at him and raises an eyebrow. "For the drawer or not kicking your ass after I skinned my knee on your damn broken flip flop?" 

"Both? I could kiss it better for you."

Chris laughs and his head falls down to his chest. Darren feels an arm slip around his waist. "Maybe later."

He'll hold him to that. 

No matter how many red carpets he has to walk and with who, wherever he is in the world, or whatever he is doing, nothing will mean half as much as that damn drawer.

\----

The following morning, of course, does not offer them the same reprieve. They are both up, showered, dressed and ready to head in separate directions by eight in the morning. When they both make their way downstairs, the sight that greets them is Cooper with the remains of one blue flip flop in his mouth, chewed to shreds. 

Darren's face falls even as Chris laughs heartily, and reaches down to rub the dog's ears.

"Good boy, Coop! Such a good boy! I'm going to go grab you a treat, well, if Darren didn't try to feed them all to the cat."

Darren watches as Chris hurries off to the kitchen, and gives him a one-fingered salute. He lowers the finger and looks down at the puppy, still chewing away at his precious Michigan flip flop. He sighs and sits down on the bottom stair to wait for Chris to come back. 

"I know he told you to do that shit. You're on my list, dog."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who hasn't seen Gizmo from the movie Gremlins, go to the [Shifting Dreams story blog](http://shiftingdreamsfic.tumblr.com/) visuals page, or just do a five second Google search to go see what the little guy looks like, and you'll know where I'm coming from.


	47. Fire - Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta quote of the night:
> 
> "Okay, Lynne, you go put on your jammies, and I'm going to run to the kitchen!"  
> "Fine, Desi, you go pee!"  
> "But I don't have to go... okay."
> 
> Another gorgeous manip by [Heukii](http://heukii.tumblr.com). Probably my favorite one she has done for the story yet. So grateful to her, you guys.
> 
> Song used in this chapter: "[On Fire](http://youtu.be/pskjyxykBiE)" by Switchfoot

It doesn't begin as a bad night, quite the opposite. He's been looking forward to this for a few weeks now. A night out with his friends wasn't something he did all that often, especially lately, a fact he was emphatically reminded of by Ashley a few days before. He promises to make more of an effort to see everyone before he is back to work full-time.

He has been neglecting his friends, and he knows it. He owns that. There have just been... _distractions_ this summer. He also knows that he won't get away without being completely and utterly grilled by them, either. As nice as it would be to be able to keep the different parts of your life in neat, little, separate, sealed off plastic compartments, life just doesn't work that way. There will always be an overlap. Knowing just how much to say and to whom, what is safe and what isn't, that is always the problem.

He braces himself for the onslaught, and invites her over a couple hours early. Might as well get this over with.

It doesn't end up being nearly as bad he was anticipating, as painful as he was expecting in the back of his mind. Darren in and out of his life like this, isn't anything new or unexpected to anyone. It's only his insistence that the days of back and forth are done, that even seems to take her aback at all. Chris can't blame his friend for being skeptical, he probably would be too, after all this time. 

He will just have to show everyone, _they_ will have to show them.

They meet their other friend at the theater. Crowded midnight showings aren't usually his kind of thing, a lot of people, confined spaces, but he has wanted to see this movie since he first heard about it. But it's not like he'll be alone, so he pulls a hat down over his hair, and arranges to get there just before the lights go down and the trailers should start.

He enjoys the movie at first. It had always been one of his favorites when he was a kid. Okay, maybe when he was a young adult too, but who's counting? The writing is decent, actually makes him laugh, and the effects are downright amazing. He lets himself get completely caught up in adventure and silly fantasy. It isn't until a third of the way through the movie, when a line makes him laugh particularly hard, that he turns to his side to whisper a comment with a _"Da"_ sound already on his lips. His eyelids blink over his eyes rapidly. He isn't here, of course he isn't. 

Chris sits between his friends on either side in the dark movie theater, both of their faces turned towards the screen. His arms slip from the armrests and fold loosely over his own chest.

It was true though, Darren would be loving this. They have always shared a penchant for the juvenile and the goofy. It was one of the very first things that drew them to one another, hours spent talking about wizards, or men in capes, Disney musicals, and mutants. It was the fastest friendship Chris had ever formed in his life up until that point, guess it makes sense why, now. Friends had never been the right word for what they are. 

Still, Darren should be able to sit here with his other friends, should be able to share small things instead of just the heavy emotional weight they carry between them. Shouldn't he? Is it a stupid thing to feel upset over, that Darren isn't sitting in the seat next to him and watching a movie about talking, sword fighting turtles? 

It has been a long time since they have been allowed to act like friends publicly, much less what they truly are now. Chris remembers those conversations clearly, in vivid, almost word for word detail. It was just too dangerous, they've always been too comfortable with each other, and too many people were noticing, suspecting. It had caused one of the first major rifts between them, one of countless many that Darren's _circumstances_ had thrown between them like a mountain physically shoved down into your path. No, even being friends where people could see, was just out of the question for them. Chris has often thought that the way they went from friends to silence, probably cast more of a spotlight on them than any of the playful banter and flirting ever had, but it's a thought he's never shared with anyone.

This probably wasn't ever going to be a possibility for them, at least not anytime in the near future. That is a fact that Chris suddenly has to accept. It won't ever be as simple as Darren joining Chris and his friends to see a stupid movie. They can't be nameless faces in a crowd who elbow each other to fight over the armrest, stealing the last piece of the king size Kit-Kat bar Chris bought on the way into the theater. Darren can't ever be just a guy he is seeing, anymore than he could have ever been just another friend. It will always be way more complicated than that.

He ends up missing most of the second half of the movie, too inside his own head to re-immerse himself in CGI ninja battles and explosions. His heart just isn't in it anymore.

They all stay in their seats as the credits roll and people shove their way up the aisles in a rush to be one of the first out of the theater. Chris can't help but think of cows; herd mentality is a funny thing. The place is nearly empty by the time they get up, gather up their trash, and make their way out. His friends both ask him if everything is okay. Yeah, yeah, of course it is, he is just tired. After all, it _is_ now 2:20 in the morning. Whose bright idea was a midnight showing, anyway? Oh, that's right. His.

When they stop to take a silly picture with the movie poster in the lobby, Chris feels like he is going to throw up the thousand calories worth of junk food he just ingested, when a large chunk of ice settles into the pit of his stomach. If she posts this online, and she will, she's Ashley, it's only going to be one of another hundred things that people will misinterpret and speculate over. He knows that. They take the picture three times, he still isn't able to muster up a convincing enough smile.

It's after three by the time he and his friend make it back to his place. He gives her a hug goodnight and is told to go up and get some sleep. She can't resist giving him shit about why he's so tired and how Darren won’t be able to dance in the near future, which he duly ignores with a roll of his eyes, when he slams her car door shut for her, and then waves her off as she drives away.

The house seems quiet. He guesses it should at three in the morning, but when Darren isn't here these days, the place feels lonelier. There's no TV or music left playing downstairs, not even any extra lights left on, and certainly no one to hear snoring from just outside his bedroom before he walks through the doorway. Darren decided to spend a rare night at his own place since Chris needed to spend some time with his friends and had plans of going out. He tells himself that that's a good thing, that they need their own space and breathing room, but in actuality, his bedroom just seems more empty than sanctuary now.

He takes his keys, wallet, and phone and lays them on top of his dresser, pulling off the hat and setting it down beside them. He undresses down to his boxers, and in a bout of laziness, leaves his clothes on the closet floor. Chris settles down onto the side of his bed with a sigh. He lied about being tired, he doesn't feel like sleeping at all. But in the end, the emptiness is more imposing than forcing himself to try to sleep, so he crawls between the covers, closes his eyes, and tries to force his mind to go blank.

\----

He wakes up to his phone going off. _Ugh._ 9:45 in the morning shouldn't feel this painful. He's groggy and can already feel the tell-tale signs of a headache beginning to creep around the perimeters of his skull, tiny demons that poke his brain and the backs of his eyes with toothpicks. He isn't entirely sure what time he was finally able to fall asleep, sometime just after five, he intentionally rolled onto his other side so that he couldn't watch the numbers on his digital clock change anymore. Based upon the way he was able to watch the shadows on his bedroom wall lighten from black to paler gray however, he would guess that it had been closer to morning than night. He slaps his hand around his nightstand for several seconds, before remembering he left his phone across the room on top of the dresser. 

"Damn."

He lays there, thinking seriously about getting up to go grab his phone that will not stop chiming, but unable to make himself move. If there was any way to trade his soul for the newly developed ability to move and retrieve objects with his mind, Chris would be all over the deal right about now. It takes him a good fifteen minutes to be able to stumble out of bed and across his bedroom. His pulse is a dull throb in his temples as he grabs and unlocks his phone.

Chris takes his phone with him and sits back down on the end of his bed. He runs a hand through his hair, wincing at the pull, when he remembers he hasn't brushed it out yet, and hits speed dial four.

"Thirty minutes, Colfer? If _I_ didn't usually take way longer to answer than that, I'd be insulted." Darren's voice was bright and excited for this early in the morning, obviously whatever he’s working on, is going well.

"Sorry, hey." Chris lays back down on the mattress, his legs still dangling off the end onto the floor, as he pulls the edge of his comforter over his eyes to block out the sunlight. The throbbing in his head eases just a bit

"So how awesome was it? I kind of hate you for getting to see it before me."

"Yeah, that was the...'' he mumbles back before catching himself, and clearing his throat a little. "Yeah, it was good. I missed a lot at the end, though. I'll need to see it again."

"You sound exhausted."

"I am," he admits, his voice deeply muffled by the thick blanket over his face. He adjusts the phone more securely over his ear. "My head is killing me."

Darren's rich-toned laugh echoes in the space of Chris' little blanket cave. "Got trashed with Ashley after the movie, huh? She still hate me?" He sounds far more pleased by that prospect than he should.

Chris frowns. "She doesn't hate you." _Anymore._ "And no, I wasn't drinking, you asshole. I just couldn't sleep."

Darren catches the wince in Chris' words at the sound of his own voice, when he snaps to his friend's defense. "Is your head that bad? Do you want to take it easy this afternoon? I don't have to come over. You probably need to rest." 

_I couldn't sleep because you weren't here._ "No, it's fine. I have to do some stuff after lunch, I guess, but you know you can come any time you want. I want you to. I just need some ibuprofen and caffeine." He rubs at his scratchy-feeling eyes and flexes his toes against the floor.

"Ooooh no, no way, Chris. DO NOT go chug three sodas right now. You need to sleep!" Chris hears the sound of other voices and knows that Darren is standing in the hallway outside the recording booth to talk to him.

"I'll be fine, mom." Chris rolls his eyes, even though the idea of a nap sounds amazing. Too bad there is little to no chance of that happening.

"Don't back talk. I'll have to spank you, young man." 

Chris snorts so hard that the blanket moves, halfway uncovering his face. "Yeah, that's not going to happen." That much he could promise. "Besides, that last time, it was your-"

"And that's my cue to get back to work!" Darren cuts him off with a low chuckle into the phone. Chris can just imagine the crinkle of his eyes and how his cheeks would flush to an unfairly gorgeous rusty-red color at the mention of _that_ particular night. It was kind of spectacular. "Try and get some rest, and take something for your head, okay? I'll head over as soon as I get done here. So, I'll see you later?"

Chris grins and rolls his eyes at the fact that Darren still poses it as a question, like his offer might have been rescinded in the last five minutes. "Go make some music or something, will you? I have things to do."

"Like sleep."

"Like things. Bye, dummy." 

He can hear Darren's voice shouting into the phone when he pulls his away from his ear, and touches the screen to end the call with a smirk. Chris drops the phone beside him and takes a deep breath. The insomnia headache still beats a muted throb in his temples, but it's one that he thinks is manageable. He's been known to have migraines so bad that they render him completely useless. His doctor claims they're from stress. Imagine that. A shower should help him feel slightly more human, followed by the ibuprofen and Diet Coke.

After all, Darren asked him not to drink three this early in the day. He didn't say a damn thing about one or two.

\----

He sits in his office in front of the computer turning back and forth in half spins in his desk chair for over an hour, before he realizes that productivity just wasn't happening today. He walks the dog, and then sets out to run the errands that have been stacking up all week.

By the time Chris finishes rushing around a couple of hours later, his little throb has turned into a flashing behind his eyes that makes it hard to drive. He has to take off his glasses and wipe at his eyes before turning into the cul-de-sac. When he pulls into his drive, he is shocked to see Darren's car already parked in front of his house. Chris glances down at the clock, only a little past two. He knows Darren should still be at the studio. 

He has been piecing together his album for so long, a verse here, a new hook there, recording and reworking and rethinking, different producers, other co-writers, on and on, that he knows Darren sometimes doesn't think it's ever going to happen. But that doesn't stop him from holing up in the studio whenever he gets half a chance. Chris knows it's ultimately the most important thing in the world to him. Well, given that he has clearly cut out early, maybe the second most important thing.

He lets himself in and nearly trips over the cat sitting right inside the front door, glaring up at him accusingly. They've only just gotten back on speaking terms in the last few days, thanks to Chris breaking down, and offering him a can of the disgusting smelling canned salmon that Darren buys and brings over. Chris isn't ready to incur Brian's wrath again, he re-adjusts the plastic shopping bags into one hand, and uses the other arm to scoop up his temperamental pet. He can hear the TV playing in the living room, and figures Darren must be in there, probably with the dog shadowing his every move as usual. 

He sits the bags down by the wall and looks down at the cat. "I know you think they're taking over the house, buddy. But you've got to admit, it's more interesting with them around." 

Brian doesn't say anything back, and Chris really isn't surprised when he wriggles out of his arms, once he walks into the room and sees both Darren and Cooper on the couch. 

"You know you're not supposed to be up there. You get hair all over my couch," he grins walking into the room. 

Darren looks up, not bothering to move his feet off of the coffee table. "You talking to me or the dog?"

Chris knocks Darren's legs down by kicking them, and flops down beside him on the cushions. "Him, obviously. You are beyond training at this point." Chris scoots the dog off onto the floor and then leans into Darren's side. The smell of his aftershave and fabric softener works to dull the headache way better than the pills he'd taken earlier. "I thought you were in the studio all day. I didn't expect to see you until dinner time." He shifts even closer when one of Darren's arms slips around his body, enveloping him further into that smell.

"I got enough done for one day. I'd rather hang out here. How's your head?" He lifts his free hand and brushes the side of his thumb across Chris' high forehead, stopping and rubbing at the tension spot that forms a crease in the skin. His thumb moves in circles like he means to actually massage the pain away.

"It's better, I'm fine." Better as of the last ninety seconds. Chris knows Darren left early because he was worried, he's seen some of Chris' migraines and other assorted effects of his rampant insomnia, firsthand. It's not something that occurs all that much anymore, he's gotten better at managing his sleep habits, but the headaches always make a day more trying to deal with, which in turn causes Chris more stress, and it all perpetuates the vicious cycle. 

"Good, because I have something for you." Darren reaches down beside them and starts rummaging around in his bag. Chris watches as he pulls out his laptop with a smile so wide, he's surprised Darren's face doesn't crack.

He blinks his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses trying to figure out the joke. "Your computer? In case you're not aware, I own one. It's a lot nicer than your scratched up, old-"

"Shut up. You said that you missed part of the movie last night, and since I wanted to see it too, I risked computer viruses and legal prosecution to download it from one of those file sharing sites." Darren plays with the touchpad and opens up a folder with a long nonsensical name that contains one file, a video.

His mouth drops open a little bit. "Shit. It's been out for less than twenty-four hours! How in the hell did..."

Darren shrugs and turns away to grab something else out of his bag. "Geeks with a camera and a rebellious streak, I guess? The video and sound quality both suck balls, I checked it out. But that is what these are for." He has a pair of white earbuds dangling from his hand. He plugs them into the jack on the side of the laptop, and offers one of the ear pieces to Chris.

He stares at the small piece of plastic in Darren's hand for a moment, stunned. It wasn't that Chris had missed the movie, it was that he missed the movie with _him_. Something hot and tight-feeling takes root in his chest, and he has to stop his hand from shaking a little as he reaches out to take his ear bud.

"I... thanks. Please don't make a habit of this, though. We are both too pretty for prison." He leans over and presses his lips to Darren's, taking his warm upper lip between his own and keeping it there. He wishes he could express the way this simple, stupid little thing Darren has done makes him feel, through their touching lips. He should know how easily he makes Chris burn, even though he can't say the words.

Darren settles the laptop securely on his thighs and sits back to make himself comfortable, opening the video file. "Speak for yourself, Colfer. I happen to think I could rule in prison. Just find myself the biggest badass I can to be my new boyfriend, and I am all set." He sticks the other side of the earbuds into his ear.

Chris curls his legs up onto the couch underneath him and narrows his eyes at Darren's smirking face. "Keep talking and maybe I'll just let you do that."

A wet-lipped kiss is pressed against the side of Chris' neck, directly on the tendon, in the spot that Darren knows makes him tingle all the way down to his toenails. "Sure you will." The words are whispered against Chris' skin, hot breath making them sink beneath the surface, and settle deeply inside his bones.

Chris swallows hard when he pulls away, turning his attention to the shaky, blurry-looking video playing on the screen. 

He enjoys the movie better this time.

He isn't sure how far into the movie it is when Darren nods off into his shoulder, but the bad Michelangelo impressions ceased about twenty minutes ago. Wasn't _he_ the one who got no sleep last night?

Chris smirks and pulls the laptop onto his own legs, maneuvering the plugged in power cord around Darren's legs and takes the earbud out of his ear. The progress bar shows there is less than ten minutes of the movie left anyway. Once the final battle ends and the Turtles flip their last, the video ends. With the crappy video quality, he's not sure that he retains any more of the movie than he did the night before, but the simple fact that Darren did this for him... It might make his all time top ten favorite movies.

He starts to shut down the computer when something catches his eye, and he has to literally slap his own hand over his mouth to keep from laughing and possibly waking up the warm body half-slumped onto him. 

Seriously? Who keeps thirty browser tabs open at once? He rolls his eyes, glancing down at Darren sleeping next to him. Even his computer is a chaotic mess. 

Chris knows he shouldn't do it. He really, really shouldn't, but he can't stop himself from clicking on a few of the tabs at random, now so small on the screen they were no bigger than the pointer itself. The content varies, guitar tabs, online shopping sites, an email from Ricky, that Chris closes out of immediately. About half of the tabs are different YouTube videos. He's never heard of the majority of the bands Darren listens to, so he isn't surprised when he doesn't recognize any of the names he sees offhand. He watches a video of a baby goat that performs pretty remarkable skills on a skateboard, and is about to shut down again, when Darren moves beside him. Chris freezes as his arm circles around his stomach and Darren pulls himself to lay more comfortably on the couch. Clearly, Chris isn't going anywhere.

He sighs and goes back to snooping through Darren's playlists, it's his own fault for holding him captive on the couch like this. A lot of the music is too indie or kitschy for his taste, not to mention the remaining traces of his headache. But he lets a few of the slower, more soothing songs play through.

_They tell you where you need to go_  
 _They tell you when you'll need to leave_  
 _They tell you what you need to know_  
 _They tell you who you need to be..._

Chris let's his fingers curl into the soft wisps of Darren's hair, and closes his eyes at the lyrics.

_But everything inside you knows_  
 _There's more than what you've heard_  
 _There's so much more than empty conversations_  
 _Filled with empty words..._

It's not hard to imagine why Darren would identify with the words, and it takes all of Chris' restraint to keep himself from tensing and pulling at the dark curls between his fingers.

_And you're on fire_  
 _When he's near you_  
 _You're on fire_  
 _When he speaks_  
 _You're on fire_  
 _Burning at these mysteries..._

Darren blazed his way into his life like a wildfire, he's thought of him that way more than once. It can light you up, but it can leave so much destruction behind. Sometimes it seems like the entire world was set on putting them out, but no one ever has.

_Cause everything inside me looks like_  
 _Everything I hate_  
 _You are the hope I have for change_  
 _You are the only chance I'll take..._

Chris knows how easily this can damage him. His career, his reputation, his carefully sculpted sense of order and control, his entire life. But Darren was always a burn he was going to feel anyway, that had never been a choice.

_And I'm on fire_  
 _When you're near me_  
 _I'm on fire_  
 _When you speak_  
 _Yeah I'm on fire_  
 _Ah you're the mystery_  
 _You're the mystery_

That had been the point, hadn't it? If they were going to feel the way that they do, together or apart, shouldn't they go ahead and burn together, regardless of the risks?

The world isn't fair, and maybe they can't be everything they want, not now. But they can _be_ and they can burn, and there isn't anyone alive who can stop them from doing that.


	48. Breathing - Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being long, and by long, I mean an easy 10,000 words. So here is part one, and there will be another chapter tomorrow that you guys can read if you're at all interested in... following the boys home.
> 
> In other words, smut, my friends. Tomorrow be the smut. 
> 
> Lovely manips as always credited to the sweet and talented [Heukii](http://heukii.tumblr.com).

Chris feels no shame in admitting the fact that he hated the small town he grew up in. In that suburban, conservative narrow-minded world, he had always felt that he might as well have been from another planet. His memories of the place are largely unhappy ones, and he will readily admit to anyone that he had been relieved to leave the place behind him.

But if there is one thing about Clovis that Chris does miss, it's his sister. So much of Chris' life, his entire family's lives, revolved around Hannah when he was younger, that when he first moved to L.A., he felt a little lost without her. She means the world to him, and he feels a twist of guilt deep in his stomach that he doesn't make the effort to see her more often. Trips back to his hometown are rare occurrences. It just isn't a place where he has ever felt comfortable, and it stopped being somewhere that Chris could ever consider home a long time ago.

He is genuinely excited to have his family come down for Hannah's birthday. The idea to go to Disneyland for the day, came to him weeks ago. He saw all three of them only for a few hours a month ago, but he hasn't been able to spend any real time with either his parents or sister in months. The plan is for him to meet them at the theme park early that morning, spend the day together, and then have dinner and a small birthday party for his sister afterwards. Chris buys the park tickets online and makes a reservation at a restaurant he thinks she would like, a week in advance. He wants to make this day as special for Hannah as he can.

Because of who he is, nothing can ever be as simple as he would like it to be. After talking over his plans with Alla, she insists that Chris needs both his assistant and a paid security guard there to tag along with them while inside the park. He's fine with having a friend there, but the other he argues is just excessive. He knows there are crowds and he is likely to be recognized, but park security? He only relents when he thinks about the fact that this day is for Hannah, and he should do whatever it takes to make sure that her day goes as smoothly and stress-free as possible. Chris hates having to go to these kinds of extremes, hates feeling like he is singled out and put under a spotlight, but the fact remains that he is. 

As it turns out, being a VIP does have its perks. Their wait time for rides is almost nonexistent, and all it takes is one call by their security guy, and Hannah can meet any of the characters she likes. A fact that they take full advantage of. Chris even has a shot of himself taken with Pluto and Donald Duck that he immediately sends off to Darren with a "Wish you were here" and a smile.

It's after he does that, that he remembers the promise that he made to himself in London to tell his parents about the two of them. Opening up about his personal life to his family is not something that he has any experience in whatsoever. They know he has dated different people, but aside from Darren himself, he's never introduced any of them to his parents and Hannah. It's simply two very different parts of his life that he has always felt the need to keep separate and defined. While they know Darren, how much they know or have guessed about his situation or about the extent of their relationship beyond that of good friends, he has no idea. He has no way of knowing what the reaction to this news might be, but he isn't going to hide Darren from the people who matter, the people that he loves and knows that he can trust.

It's not the sort of subject that you just blurt out when you are surrounded by people watching a parade, or when you're all piling into the Splash Mountain ride. He waits until he has some semblance of privacy with his mom when his friend has stepped away to return a phone call, and his dad has taken Hannah to ride the teacups. He is sitting next to his mother on a bench near the exit of the ride, summoning up the resolve to just say it.

_Just rip the bandaid off._

The slower he goes, the more painful this will be. Chris fixes his eyes on a bright blue trash can that sits a few yards away.

"Mom, I'm seeing Darren." He winces at the disingenuous sound of the phrase.

Seeing? He's _seeing_ Darren? He does a lot more than see him on a daily basis. Though it's not like he is going to replace the word with "fucking" when he is talking to his mother. "Dating" doesn't seem sufficient enough of a term either. Why is the English language choosing today of all days to fail him?

He swallows and fidgets with the sunglasses in his hand. "We're together, we have been for a while." The second try feels no less awkward then the first.

"I know that, Chris." His mom's voice is calm and untelling, at odds with the surprise that Chris feels jolt up his spine.

"What? You knew-"

"He has been in the background nearly every time I've spoken to you for months, sweetheart. He's not exactly quiet. And when we saw you last month and Hannah asked about him, you looked like you'd seen a ghost, and you started jabbering on about the cat." There's a small smile on her face when she turns to look back at him. "So yes, Christopher. I knew."

He leans back on the bench to let that sink in for a moment, and has to grab the seat with both hands to keep himself from toppling backwards off the other side. This wasn't at all how he expected this conversation to go. He rights himself, and wipes his hands on his thighs. The awkwardness is suddenly far more stifling than the Southern California heat. 

His dad and sister are at the front of the Fast Track line, getting ready to step onto the ride, and Chris really wishes he'd gone on with them. It's not exactly a comfortable silence, but it's far from the worst that he has ever felt. 

This is uncharted territory for them both.

His mom lays her hand on his arm and looks up at him. "I'm guessing that it's going alright with you two? I mean you seem happy."

"I am," he confirms immediately. It's true, he is happier with Darren than he ever was when things between them had been left so undefined, but trying to explain the difference to his mother, to anyone for that matter, isn't something that he knows how to do. He appreciates her for trying, all he can do is try to do the same. Chris licks his lips and breathes out slowly. "It's not easy, not with..." _Him still hiding? The world breathing down our backs? Me having no goddamn idea how to even do this?_ "...everything, but we are trying to make it work." It's the most he has ever explained to either of his parents about his personal life. Ever. He’s still anxious and his cheek seems to have developed some weird muscle twitching thing, but the sun doesn't come hurtling down from the sky, the world isn't ending.

"Good." His mom squeezes his forearm once, and gives him what he thinks to be a sincere smile. He wonders if she plans to say more, but the moment ends when his friend walks back over to them, and his father and sister walk back up demanding they break for ice cream.

They wait until later in the afternoon, just before it's time to leave the park, to go to the huge World of Disney store to let Hannah pick out her birthday present. Chris has promised her that she can choose whatever she wanted. It was a promise his mom laughed at, and told him he may regret making, and she was right. His arms are already overloaded with costume jewelry, stuffed animals, a red Mickey backpack, and two DVDs, while his sister shows no signs of stopping.

As he, his parents, and his friend all follow behind her laughing at the way she darts from aisle to aisle, Chris keeps an eye out for something for Darren as well. The Indiana Jones mice were sort of amazing. They were strange looking and random, something he never in a million years would have picked out for himself. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a little smirk every time his eyes land on them where they sit in his office on a shelf next to his desk. Darren did a great job with his gift, and Chris now refuses to be outdone. He needs to find something just as good, preferably better. He wanders away from the others, looking over a display of glossy, hardcover photo books about the history of the park. 

Hannah sneaks up behind him, making him jump. "I don't want a book."

"Not for you," he explains, turning away from the rows of books and walking beside her down the aisle. "I need to pick out a little present for someone else while I'm here."

"Who?" She asks looking over at him. Hannah, he doesn't mind telling at all.

"For Darren."

Her blue eyes light up at the name. "Can he come and eat cake with us, too?" 

Chris feels his smile falter only a fraction. He couldn't think of anything in the entire world that would make him happier than that, having them both smiling at him at once. Darren and his sister are the two most important people in the world to him, and the thought of just how much room they take up inside of him, makes him breathless.

"Not today, Han. I'm really sorry, but he has to work." It isn't a lie, Darren is taking meetings that day and will spend his evening in the studio again. It just isn't the whole truth either. "I know he would rather be here though." That much he knows is true.

"Okay." She pulls a white stuffed cat from the Aristocats movie off of a shelf and examines it closely for a moment, before turning it and adding it to the growing pile of gifts in his arms. "I'll have more birthdays." She walks over to another display of stuffed creatures. "I want to get him a present, too!"

Chris laughs quietly at the excitement in her face. "You don't have to do that. He is kind of spoiled, besides it's _your_ birthday."

She pouts her lips a bit and narrows her eyes at him. "You said whatever I wanted, Bubba." 

Damn, he did say that. His baby sister has gotten way too good at working him. Maybe her spending time around Darren would not be such a good thing after all. This is shaping up to be a very expensive day.

Chris carries the pile of souvenirs Hannah has picked out over to the counter, and asks if the young woman working check out can hold them until they are done shopping. She agrees with a bright smile, and he walks away flexing his tired arms. He is walking between two aisles filled with CDs and DVDs, when something hanging catches his eye.

Chris pulls one of the small items from the metal rod attached to the shelf, and grins. The picture on the tiny piece of plastic dances when he shifts it in his hand. It's perfect. He takes his time selecting six different designs, and then walks back over to see just how much damage his sister was doing to his wallet.

Hannah ends up with enough souvenirs to cover not only her birthday, but Christmas as well. It's worth it, more than worth it, when she wraps her arms around his neck and hugs him tightly, pressing her giggles into his t-shirt. She's grown up so much, and Chris has missed a lot. He kisses the side of her head, whispers "you're welcome", and promises himself that he will do better. 

Everyone is tired from being on their feet and in and out of the sun all day, and by five, they are all Disneyed-out. His assistant has a date later that night, so he says goodbye to Chris' parents, hugs Hannah, and they go their separate ways as they all exit the park. It's strange driving with his entire family in the car with him, a strange, pressing sense of responsibility that Chris can't ever remember feeling before. 

When they get to the restaurant, they are led to a small private room where a single table has been made up with yellow and pink decorations on the white table cloth. There are balloons, and a cake with hand-painted iced daisies all around the edges. Hannah laughs and takes her seat at the head of the table, while Chris feels his mother hug him from behind.

"Thank you." His mom embraces him for a few moments, and the smell of her perfume, the same one she's worn since he was a child, takes him back in time. Small, family-only birthday dinners like this with superhero cakes and blue crepe paper streamers, scotch-taped around the walls of the dining room back in the house he grew up in, back when he didn't stand a full head taller than she did. Maybe all of his memories of that time and place weren't so bad after all.

They sit and eat as a family, something that doesn't happen nearly often enough. His dad laughs particularly hard when he claims that Chris and Hannah make identical faces when their mom tells them two pieces of cake each was enough. So much has happened in Chris' life in such a short amount of time, that it is sometimes impossible to remember that he is still the same person he was five years ago, when these three people seated around the table from him were his whole world. It's nice, and makes Chris wish that he'd taken Hannah's advice and called and invited someone else to join them. 

He drives his family back to their hotel and promises that he will come back and have breakfast with them the next morning before they start their five hour long drive home. Hannah reminds him of the extra gift she had him buy, and he promises to make sure it makes its way to the right person.

By the time he gets home, Chris is worn out, but in a warm, pleasant way. His feet are tired from all the walking, and his muscles are a little sore from being jolted around on thrill rides, but he still smiles as he makes his way up the stairs into his bedroom. He lays the bags on the bed and sits down next to them to pull off his shoes. He is daydreaming about a steaming hot shower when his phone rings in the back pocket of his fitted jean shorts.

He rolls his eyes and accepts the call. "Why is it that you always call when I am thinking about getting naked?" 

Darren lets out a sudden, surprised laugh. "Well hello to you, too. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that you aren't with your folks at the moment?"

Chris pulls his shirt off over his head and lays back on the bed with a contented sigh. "You would guess right. Just dropped them off and got home."

"How was the happiest place on earth? Birthday girl have a good time?"

Chris pillows one arm behind his head and closes his eyes. "She did. We rode just about everything, went on the teacups and Small World twice. It was hotter than hell out today, though. I was just thinking about how good a shower sounds to me right now." 

"I always like the sound of you in the shower." Darren's flirty hum makes the corners of Chris' lips quirk and he runs a hand down the center of his own chest to rest on his stomach.

"Too bad you're not here then. I might be inclined to let you join me, or at least watch." His fingers trail along the firm lines of his stomach muscles, tracing the dips and ridges underneath the skin. "You still have plans tonight?" His fingers go on teasing the skin around his navel in a slow circle as a smirk slides onto his face. He knows that Darren has a session with a guy he's been wanting to co-write with for a while, that is set to last until pretty late tonight. He'd purposefully scheduled it while Chris would be busy with his family, and it wasn't something he could just blow off. Still, he is very fun to tease.

"Fuck." Chris can easily picture Darren's eyes darkening to a delicious coffee brown as they go wide and he considers the pros and cons of Chris' offer. "Well, maybe I-"

Chris laughs and shakes his head like Darren can see. "I'm joking, Dare. I know you're working on something. I have to be up early to see my parents and sister off, anyway. I'm just in a good mood and you're an easy target."

"You are an evil little shit. You know that?"

"You won't be saying that when you see what I got you today." Chris glances down at the shopping bags beside him, a small white one containing the gift he'd picked out, and a larger plastic one underneath it.

"Can I have a hint?"

"Hmm." Chris plays along, pretending to think it over. "No. You'll just have to wait and see."

Darren snorts into the phone. "See? Fucking evil."

"But you love me anyway." Chris is so caught up with the playful teasing that he doesn't even hesitate over the word. It feels natural, easy.

Darren doesn't miss it, his voice softens and wipes the grin from Chris' lips. "More than yesterday, a little bit more than the day before every single damn day, Chris."

Chris feels the weight and pressure of the words press him down into the mattress and hold him there. Because there isn't any doubt that Darren means what he says, and it leaves Chris' throat dry, and brain churning for what to say back. "That's... I just... I." He wants to call it a cheesy line or laugh it off as a joke, but the weight of the truth won't let him.

"I can't talk long but I called for a reason. I'm still working here tomorrow, but I want to take you somewhere tomorrow night."

That catches Chris' attention. He sits up so fast that it makes his head swim for a second. "Take me where exactly?" 

Darren's voice is muffled like he is telling someone to hang on with his hand over the mic on his phone. "Yeah, hey. Just dinner, it'll be late though. I can come over and we can leave from there, around nine-ish?"

Dinner that late? And out? The idea starts ringing the warning bells in Chris' mind. This isn't London, it's Los Angeles. They can't just go out together here like that. "Darren-"

"It will be fine. I've got this all planned out. Just be ready to go around nine, and look as incredible as you always do, okay?" Darren sounds rushed, but he is clearly desperate for Chris to say yes. "Trust me, no one is going to see or bother us. I promise."

Chris does trust him, it's the rest of the world that concerns him. "I..."

"Please? I want to show you something."

Between his own raging curiosity and Darren's gentle voice pleading into his ear through the phone, Chris closes his eyes and hits the mute button on his better judgement that tells him that going anywhere with Darren on a Friday night in public, is probably a horrible idea. "Alright," he says with a loud sigh. "Alright, I'll go. But I expect you to do better than McDonald's drive-thru if I'm waiting until that late to eat dinner."

Darren's laugh feels like warm honey that flows through him. "I can promise you, it'll be better than that, Colfer. My date skills have improved since then, give me a little credit."

"That's debatable. I guess we'll see tomorrow night." Chris' fingers play with the waistband of his shorts for something to do. 

"I'm coming! Fuck!" Darren's sudden yell makes Chris flinch in his quiet room, his hand jerks away from his shorts by reflex. "Sorry, I've got to go for now. So I'll see you tomorrow night, okay Babe?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Hey, Chris?"

"What?" 

"Are you really naked?"

A single bark of laughter bubbles up out of his throat before he can stop it from getting out, and he hurries to hang up the phone.

\----

Chris has been watching the clock for the last half hour. His day has been quiet, the hours moving so slowly since he hugged his sister and parents goodbye after brunch at their hotel. He'd gotten home just after noon, and tried to write for a while, but the mystery of Darren's plans kept ghosting through the back of his mind. He can't focus on the words on the screen when all that he can think about is what kind of trouble they could potentially be walking into. He has no control over the situation, and the feeling sets his teeth on edge.

He's waiting by the door when Darren's car pulls through his gate and up the drive. He flings the door open even before the other man has climbed out of the car. It's only been two days, but Chris' eyes feel hungry as they drink Darren in. They've both opted for classic black when they got dressed, Chris in a lightweight button down and pants, and Darren in a polo shirt that stretches tight across the most mouthwatering part of his upper arms with a pair of dark-washed jeans. Clearly he was right to dress up, Darren would never have changed after work, unless they were in fact going somewhere special. Chris has seen the man wear shorts to four star restaurants. 

Darren walks up to the door, a wide smile on his lips, shower-damp curls hanging down over his forehead. He stops on the second to top step, looking up at Chris. He's grinning so hard that his eyes are nearly eclipsed by the rise of his cheeks.

"Don't you ever have a bad hair day?"

Chris smirks and shrugs one shoulder. He knows that he looks amazing. He spent a lot of time on his hair, getting it just right, high and full just the way that he knows Darren loves. He can't ever seem to be able to keep himself from shoving his hands in deeply, and grasping on tight. "Not if I can help it." He steps down so that they are standing face to face. He rests his hands on either side of Darren's waist, and leans in for a kiss. Darren's lips are plush and damp and Chris can smell the mint of toothpaste or gum on his breath. He breathes in through his nose and opens his mouth to find out which it is by tasting the inside of Darren's mouth, when the other man pulls away with a grin. He pecks the side of Chris' mouth lightly, and the prickly hair across his upper lip scrapes against tender, white skin. 

Chris scowls at being denied the access he wanted. Darren laughs low in the back of his throat. 

"You ready to go?"

"Almost." Chris grabs one of his hands and pulls him inside after him. He closes the door behind them and turns to see Darren leaning against the wall. He walks over to the coffee table and grabs both of the bags he'd brought home from the theme park the day before. He holds the larger plastic bag out to Darren. "My sister picked this out for you."

Darren looks momentarily stunned. His reflexes seem to be slowed as he reaches out and takes the bag from Chris, staring down at it like it was something he couldn't believe he was seeing, like it contained something more precious and unfathomable than the Holy Grail. "Hannah bought me a present?"

"Technically, _I_ bought it. She just picked it out and insisted you have it." Chris crosses his arms over his chest, and watches with an amused grin as Darren pulls the large stuffed reindeer out of the bag with a perplexed look on his face. Chris chuckles, ”I think it kind of reminded her of you.” He shrugs one shoulder and watches Darren look down at the toy like it’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen. His fingers play with the smaller, white bag in his hand. “I’m sure that this won’t compare. But since you got me something the last time you were there, I just…” He shrugs again and pulls one of the picks from the bag. 

He knew as soon as he’d seen the holographic guitar picks, that Darren would love them. Each one was printed with a scene from a classic animated film, and the image moved when turned in the light. 

Chris pulls Darren's hand out towards him until his palm lays flat and one by one, he places the different picks in his hand with a tiny smile on his lips. Darren's gaze flicks up and down between the small pieces of plastic on his palm, and Chris' face. Once he's placed all six of them in Darren's hand, he lets go, and takes a step back. 

Darren isn't saying anything, his eyes seemingly frozen on the picks. His silence makes Chris feel anxious, he slides his own hands into his pockets. "They're sort of dumb, I know. I just saw them and I thought of you. I almost got you this picture book about the park instead. It had all of these original concept drawings and-"

Chris never gets to finish his "and." One minute Darren is standing a few feet away from him, silent and staring at the guitar picks, and the next he is shoving Chris backward until his back collides with the far wall of his foyer, nearly knocking the mirror off the wall. Darren’s mouth comes down hot and hard upon his, his tongue forcing its way between his lips, when it finds the opportunity of Chris' startled gasp. The kiss is wet, searching, Darren's slick tongue stroking at his teeth, and the inside of Chris' lower lip. He whimpers a squeaky, trembling sound into Darren's mouth, and his hands find Darren's strong shoulders beneath the cotton of his polo shirt, twisting and pulling there. It _was_ toothpaste after all. 

He doesn't realize that he forgets to breathe, until Darren pulls away, and there are black spots swimming before his eyes. His chest rises and falls roughly, gasping for the oxygen he hadn't realized he so desperately needed while Darren was possessing his mouth.

His mind works slowly, struggling to catch up to the present.

“What?” His eyes blink open lazily, taking in an unfocused double image of Darren in front of him.

Both of the Darrens smile, and Chris feels the side of his face cupped in a warm, rough-fingered hand. “You are fucking amazing. You know that?”

“Yes, I’m aware.” He is still breathing deeply, trying to normalize his senses, when Darren steps back to straighten his shirt that Chris’ hands have tugged desperately out of place. His mind eventually clears enough to be able to clear his throat quietly and pull up something that at least resembles his dignity. “Am I awesome enough to know where you are taking me?”

“Not in the least.”

Damn. Well, he tried. Chris sighs and checks out his hair in the mirror. Still perfect. He turns and looks back at Darren’s smug, stupidly handsome face. “Fine then, let’s get this kidnapping over with.” He walks towards the door. “I assume I’m not driving?” 

Darren steps around him through the open door. “Well, considering that you have no idea where we’re going, are prone to road rage, and will be drinking tonight, I’d say not.”

Chris pauses with his keys still in the door, still in the process of locking up behind them. He looks back at Darren over his shoulder. “Why would I drink if you’re not going to?” Chris wasn’t one to drink alone. If he and Darren were having dinner somewhere and one of them needed to drive, he would just assume neither one of them get buzzed. Not to mention the fact that it could not be a good idea to lose any of their faculties when they were already playing with fire by going out together. 

“Because you are going to relax and enjoy the food and the wine, and I am going to enjoy watching you.” Darren replies casually, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world, and slips into the drivers seat of his car while Chris remains standing stiffly outside the closed door. 

Chris’ brow creases. “Yeah, because _that’s_ not weird at all,” he grumbles under his breath, flinging open the door of Darren’s Tesla and climbing inside.

Chris bites his tongue as they merge onto the freeway. He hates having no idea where he is or where he’s going, he has since he was a kid. The lack of knowledge to orient himself makes him squirm in his seat, and tap his fingers anxiously on the door panel beneath the car window. Darren, on the other hand, seems as relaxed as he has ever been, humming along to nonexistent music after Chris huffs and turns off the radio, and smiling to himself as they drive south. Every time Darren directs his easy smile at him, Chris rolls his eyes and looks away. It becomes a game of "how pissed can I pretend to be" that he ends up having to forfeit when Darren's warm hand comes up and kneads the tense muscle at the back of his neck. It makes everything inside him go loose and slack, like a rope suddenly being untied.

They exit the freeway and head towards Venice Beach. The roads are crowded and people are walking up and down the sidewalks. The neck massage that Darren has been giving him for the last fifteen minutes isn't enough to completely distract Chris from the fact that they are in a busy area where they could easily be recognized. What in the fuck is Darren thinking? They can't just _be_ here like this, it isn't safe, isn't allowed. Chris knows his eyes must be broadcasting the frantic way he is feeling, when Darren looks over at him, squeezes his thigh and murmurs a quiet "trust me."

He's trying, he really is.

They drive all the way to the coast, and then Darren turns into a parking lot of what appears to be a closed beach side restaurant. There is only one car at the far end of the lot, the lights inside off. Darren pulls into a spot and kills the engine. 

Chris stares at the building in front of them. Piccolo? The name seems vaguely familiar, like something someone mentioned to him once, but Chris is sure he's never been there himself. He peers through the plate glass windows and sees a dim light inside. "What did you do?" He doesn't even try to disguise the suspicion in his voice.

Darren widens his eyes and raises his eyebrows with what Chris knows he means to be an innocent expression. He's not buying it.

"Darren." 

Full lips twitching like he has to fight a smile, Darren glances over his shoulder at the front of the restaurant. "A friend of my dad's owns this place. She closed a little early, and is letting us have the place to ourselves for the night." When Chris opens his mouth to tell him how stupid this is, he is stopped by Darren's hand clamping down over his lips. 'It's already done. We're going to go inside, you are going to _not_ be an asshole about it, and have a meal that borders on a religious experience." The look Chris directs at him over his hand would wither and kill anyone else, but Darren just grins and kisses the back of his own fingers over the spot where they cover Chris' lips. 

Darren opens his door and gets out of the car, and hurries around the front of the car and opens the passenger side door with a silly little bow. Chris snorts and then sighs heavily, having no choice but to follow him towards the entrance. His heart thuds in his chest with each step he takes across the paved parking lot. Chris still thinks this is a bad idea. Friend of his father or not, how can they trust anyone else working here not to talk? The two of them, alone, having a private dinner, in a closed restaurant? Yeah, that wouldn't look suspicious at all. Chris sighs and steps up onto the sidewalk behind Darren. He watches him knock on the wide front doors, and Chris fights not to look over his shoulder to see if anyone is watching them already.

Moments later, an older woman with short, gray hair and dark eyes opens the door with a huge smile. Her voice is heavily accented as she hugs Darren and lets them into the dark lobby. Darren introduces him to the woman, an old friend of both of his parents, who used to live in San Francisco. As they make conversation, he looks around the room. The place isn't large, no more than twenty tables in the main dining room, with entrances to a few smaller rooms that he can just barely make out through the shadows. A long, dark bar runs the length of one side of the room. Walls painted in warm creams and golds, dark wood furnishings, white linens, artwork depicting Tuscan landscapes, softly glittering chandeliers and wall sconces. It's all very Old World, and Chris wishes he could see it by day.

They are led through the dining room to a table near the back, a bottle of water and wine already open and waiting, and a single candle burns in a large blue and green glass votive in the center of the table. Chris waits for a waiter to come take their order, but instead, the owner herself walks back to the kitchen and returns with a tray covered in small dishes. She lays the plates and bowls out on the table beside theirs, and tells them to enjoy and that she’ll be in her office beside the kitchen if there is anything else they need. 

Chris notices that she slid a phone back onto the table before walking away. Darren's. Why did she have Darren's phone?

When he notices him looking at it, Darren looks down and shakes his head, chuckling and looking embarrassed. "I might have asked her to snap a quick picture for me. You just look so goddamn gorgeous tonight."

"You might have, huh?" Chris snorts and snatches up the phone. He unlocks the screen, and it immediately opens to the picture. 

"See? Beautiful."

Darren's right, but he doesn't mean himself. When he consciously realizes what kind of thought just went through his mind, Chris groans and puts his head down on the tabletop suddenly feeling cheesy as hell. Maybe Darren was contagious. This has to already be the strangest dining experience Chris has ever had. 

Darren looks over the assortment of dishes she’d left behind and then grabs two, placing one bowl in front of Chris. It’s some kind of pasta with an orange sauce over it. 

Darren lifts the bowl to his nose and smells it, moaning in a way that Chris is all too familiar with. He looks up at Chris and sees his amused smirk. Darren lowers the dish back to the tabletop with a sheepish grin. “Agnolotti ravioli.” He says, like that should explain anything to Chris.

Chris lifts his fork and takes a single bite. It’s amazing of course, he’s learned not to doubt Darren when it comes to Italian food. There’s some kind of beef inside and a milky cheese that melts over Chris’ tongue and makes him think of his grandmother's lasagna, although he's sure they share very few of the same ingredients. You probably can't buy the stuff to make this for twenty-five bucks at Whole Foods. Well, or Wal-Mart.

"Mouthgasm, right?" He watches Darren pour wine into one of the two glasses sitting on the table, the one in front of himself. He fills it up and then switches the glasses so that the drink now sits in front of Chris, and he has the empty one beside his own plate. "Try it with this." 

Chris takes a sip of the tangy, red wine and feels the bitter burn of it go down his throat, raising goosebumps along his arms as he swallows. He's always been a bit of a lightweight with this stuff. 

Darren seems anxious, jittery in a way that Chris isn't used to seeing, as they first eat the ravioli, and then swap the empty bowls for plates of sliced beef. He explains that the tagliata is braised after being crusted with salt, and served with a thyme and lemon pesto sauce. Chris stays quiet as they eat, but his eyes can't stop watching Darren. He has something to say. This whole over the top date night means _something_ , and Chris can't help but wonder.

He ignores the weirdness for as long as he possibly can. He can feel Darren's leg jolting up and down under the table, causing the candle's flame to dance across both of their faces. He was going to wait for Darren to explain himself, wait for him to let Chris in on whatever was on his mind, but patience has never been his biggest virtue. He moves one of his legs so that his calf rests across Darren's knee underneath the table, pressing down and stopping the anxious shaking. "Are you ready to tell me what all of this is?" Chris keeps his voice low and soft, paying respect to the hush of the large, empty room.

Darren draws in a breath so deep that Chris can see his nostrils flare with it. He tilts his head to one side and looks down at his empty wine glass. "You're giving up a whole hell of a lot to be with me. I want to give you every possible thing that I can right now, to try and make up for all the shit I can't."

"Darren, I'm not 'giving up' anyth-"

"Yeah, you are." Chris is cut off when Darren sits up in his seat and reaches across the table to touch his hand. His fingers lay on top of Chris' where they sit curled around the stem of his glass. If Darren's eyes are soft, whiskey gold in the sunlight, lit in the darkness by a single candle, they are the burning color of dying coals in a fire. "You could have this every fucking night with anyone else. You can go out and do whatever you want, when you want. I know that this was never something you asked for, and now you are all caught up in my shit. I don't ever want to think you're regretting this."

There's no sense in regretting something that you had no more choice in than breathing while you're fast asleep. Just like you don't have to think about it, for oxygen to keep filling up your lungs, Darren was always going to be this fact of life for him. He was an inevitability, one that there was no use in regretting. Not that Chris ever would. Who would _want_ to stop breathing?

Chris stands up from his seat at the table, the chair making a horrible screeching sound as he starts to pull it around the side of the table at first, until he lifts it fully. He places the chair right beside Darren's. The table isn't made to hold two people on the same side, but he shoves Darren's plate and water glass aside to make room for his own, and then sits back. The candlelight casts shadows that makes Darren's already long eyelashes look like thick strokes of black from a paint brush across his face.

"I couldn't do this with anyone else, Dare." His voice is still subdued and breathy, and he waits until those liquid fire eyes are on his, to say anything else. He doesn't think it's possible to ever get used to being looked at the way Darren looks at him, and he has to clench his fists not to shake. "I could date someone else, sure. I could go out, make all the gossip sites, go places with some random guy if I wanted to. Kiss someone else, sleep with someone else. I've done it, and it was... It felt okay. It was nice sometimes, sucked at others. But I can't _feel_ anything about anyone else, not knowing that you are out there. You think that I didn't try? I did, Darren. There isn't any turning you off." 

Darren’s hand is fisted in the tablecloth where it hangs down over his lap. When Chris sees that, he reaches out and takes his hand. He pulls on Darren's fingers, straightening them out until they relax and he can thread his own between them. Their hands aren't remotely the same size. Chris' fingers are shorter, Darren's are thinner and longer with guitar callouses on the fingertips. His own hands are smooth and cool, while Darren's palms are sweaty and clammy in his. But they fit together perfectly. "I would miss out on so much more if I tried to be with any other guy, and so would you. I need you to make me feel, Darren." It's probably the most honest thing he's ever said, and possibly the most vulnerable Chris has ever been. He doesn't admit to needing anyone or anything easily. And this isn't needing a second Diet Coke or asking for a week off. He needs Darren to be able to know what love feels like, because this man is the only one who can reach that place inside of him, the only one who ever has.

Darren's eyes look wet and his hand trembles a little in Chris' grasp. "I need you, too." His voice is thick and his lips mouth silent words that he isn't able to find breath for. 

Chris smiles and kisses their knotted fingers. "No shit. You are hopeless on your own." His attempt to lighten the mood falls flat, when Darren nods and they both realize simultaneously how true the words are.

The life Darren leads, the hiding and the secrets, the pretending and the poster boy smile, it's hard and it takes a kind of strength that Darren himself does not always have. It isn’t that Darren is weak, but he is human. He’s the most warm, passionate, gentle, _human_ man, Chris has ever known. And the world of lies that he lives in, the one that often seems specifically designed to shame and kill that part of him, could and probably would ultimately destroy him if Darren didn’t have something to fight for. Someone to borrow that strength from. Without hope, without Chris, Darren would drown, and they both know it. 

Chris takes in a shaky breath when Darren leans in and kisses his lips, licking the bitterness of the wine from them. He winds his hands into those soft, black curls at the back of his head and grips them so hard that Darren gasps against his mouth. Chris will never, ever, let the world break him, as long as he is here and able, Darren isn't going to drown. 

They sit next to each other as the candle begins to burn low. They’ve likely far overstayed their welcome, but neither of them are too concerned about that, feeding each other spoonfuls of soft mascarpone cream and pieces of amaretto cookies with their fingers. 

Chris doesn’t know how their story is going to end, even with his overactive imagination, he couldn't even begin to guess. If they want even a chance at a happily ever after, so much is going to have to happen and change, and their lives will probably become even crazier and more complicated than they already are, and he hasn’t the slightest idea of where to start. But he isn’t going to think about that tonight. Tonight he is going to take the man he loves home, lay him out, open, touch, fill, and pleasure him with everything he has. And then tomorrow, he is going to do it again. 

For now, it's all that he knows to do.

"Take me home, Dare?"

A wet kiss to the side of his neck just under his ear. "Sure, Angel. Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For pictures of the guitar picks, Hannah's gift, the restaurant, and more, check out the visuals page on the [Shifting Dreams story blog](http://shiftingdreamsfic.tumblr.com).


	49. Making - Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta quotes:
> 
> "He's not... Is he?"  
> " _Damn_ , Colfer!"  
> "Are they..."  
> "..."  
> "..."  
> "Desi!"  
> "..."
> 
> This is PWP, Shifting Dreams style. Chris has a lot of feeings after their dinner out and he needs to... unwind. Hot boys doing dirty things to each other, followed by fluffiness. You have been warned. (And to think, this is the second, less smutty version!)

It's funny when Chris pushes his body against the side of the car after they leave the restaurant, splaying his hands wide across Darren's hips and mouthing wetly at the side of his neck and shoulder. 

Darren's body involuntarily jolts, jumping when he feels the hint of teeth press into his skin. 

" _Ah_ , okay," his voice is shaky at the feeling of Chris' open, wet mouth on him. Darren's eyes flash up to perform a furtive scan around them, they're still in a public parking lot. But it's a quarter after midnight, and the streets are nearly deserted. He rests back against the car door and gives his body and mind permission to enjoy the frantic way that Chris is working his lips along the line of his jaw. "You only had two glasses of wine, and you are this far gone?"

He isn't sure what that distracted hum that Chris makes in response is supposed to insinuate, but the quick flicker of Chris' tongue across his lips speaks loudly enough. 

It's less funny, and becomes a sign of something more serious, with clear intent, when he has just pulled onto the freeway, and Chris' hand comes to rest on his thigh. He inhales sharply through his nose as the finger slides down and in, pressing four small spots of pressure into the muscle of Darren's inner thigh, while his thumb strokes across the top of his leg over his jeans. Darren feels his attention split between that hand on him, and the traffic around them. He licks his lips, taking his eyes off the road momentarily to glance over at the man sitting next to him. Shadows and black pupils seem to have completely overtaken the usual blue in Chris' eyes. "What are you trying to do?" 

The answer is pretty obvious, especially with the way Chris' fingers slide up another inch until he is rubbing circles into the sensitive area where the crease of Darren's leg meets his body. His dick twitches in his pants, awake to the fact that Chris' fingers appear to be searching it out. "Shit," he hisses under his breath. He spreads his legs as best he can while wearing his seatbelt and keeping his foot firmly on the gas pedal.

His cock begins to fill and fatten inside his boxers, making the jeans he is wearing instantly feel a size too small. He hears the audible breath Chris sucks in when he feels Darren growing hard right under his fingertips. He doesn't press hard, but doesn't stop, letting the rising bulge of Darren's erection swell up to size underneath his hand. 

Darren swerves over the line on his side, getting honked at by an 18-wheeler in the next lane. The loud, blaring horn and huge, lumbering truck passes them, causes Darren to flinch in his seat.

Chris' voice is a low, thick sound. "Careful, watch the road."

It's probably easier to watch the road and focus on the other cars, when you don't have a hand gently cupped around your hard cock, squeezing down randomly and making you cry out, forcing your legs to jolt under the steering wheel. 

They are only approaching the city limits, when Chris draws his hand back over to his own side of the car, Darren doesn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. 

"Your place." Chris suddenly says. Now that they are off of the freeway he is able to cast a better look at Chris' face. His eyes are wide, his pale lips gleam wet in the illumination of the passing street light. "Your house is closer."

Darren just nods and changes his mental directions.

Darren has spent little time at his own house in the last few months, remarkably little. The air inside, as he unlocks the door and lets them both in, is cool from the air-conditioning that he keeps blasting twenty-four hours a day. It smells like the lemon scented floor polish that the lady who comes in to clean once a week uses. It doesn't smell or feel like a home, not like Chris' place does. He didn't have the slightest indication that Chris might want to stay over here with him when he went over to pick him up, he just assumed the routine of sleeping there would continue on as it usually did. 

They've chosen to come back to Darren's place simply because it was closer, and Chris wants to be close to him, as soon as possible. He doesn't waste any time now, crowding up against him just inside the door. Chris' face is covered with a red flush, and Darren doesn't think it's the wine that makes the blood stain through his pale skin. He takes Darren's head between his hands, holding firm as he licks his way back into his mouth. Chris uses his hold on Darren's face to tilt his head into the exact position he wants it in, so that he can kiss him as dirtily and deeply as he wants.

Darren moans from deep inside his chest, Chris' tongue feels strong and big in his mouth, probing and exploring every taste bud and tooth. It's like Chris was still hungry after their amazing dinner, and only Darren can ease the gnawing inside his stomach. Darren's half-hard cock pulsates steadily along with his heartbeat. 

It's not just his mouth that Chris seems hungry for. His hands rove over Darren's body restlessly. Down his back, to his thighs, across his shoulders, his biceps, the tissue paper-thin skin of the crease inside his elbows, the curves of his waist, and back around to cup the full swell of his ass. Chris pulls him forward and against his body, letting Darren feel the large bulge in the front of his pants through their clothes. He's hard as a fucking rock.

Darren turns his face from the driving kiss to suck in a deep breath, the sudden burst of oxygen making his head swim. Chris only grunts and begins clawing at Darren's shirt, ripping it over his head to find more sweet, tanned skin for his lips to claim. He is rarely ever this forward, this fast. Darren isn't complaining, not at all, but he wonders what has gotten him so worked up. He loops his arms around Chris' shoulders, fingers playing with the short hair at the nape of his neck. "You sure are eager."

"Yes." The word comes out as a whine, high pitched and strangled, and Chris ducks his head to begin dragging the flat of his tongue across the hard ridge of Darren's collarbone. Darren's head falls back with a groan.

"Any special reason for that?" 

Chris is already working down the warm, soft skin of Darren's chest. "Just want you, Dare. Want _you_." Darren's eyes roll back a little as that perfect, hot mouth seals itself over one tight, dark colored nipple, drawing the pebbled skin between his lips with a sudden suck.

"Shit, Babe." Darren clutches at the back of Chris' hair with one hand, grasping onto his shoulder with the other to keep himself upright. He raises up on his tiptoes, pressing his chest even closer to Chris' face. His nipples are tiny, but sensitive as hell, and each suck and swipe of Chris' tongue sends a dull pulse of heat into Darren's balls.

His mind becomes a hazy, foggy place, swirls of warmth and lust with sparks of clarity that cut through the daze like lightning, as Chris bites his way across to the other side of Darren's chest. He knows what Chris wants, knows what he's like when he needs Darren to just let him lead and position and _take_ , and he is more than willing to be led. If Chris needs to work something in himself out through sex, Darren is more than happy to give his body over for whatever he needs. 

Chris is licking broad, wet stripes up the center of his chest, matting down the thick growth of black hair with spit. He is bent over, one arm around Darren's back supporting his body as he bows his body backwards, positioning Darren to present as much of his skin to Chris' hungry mouth as possible.

Suddenly an unwelcome thought breaks through the fog. 

_Fuck._

Darren remembers taking the half-full box of condoms over to Chris' house in his bag a week ago. They're always there, so what they do together is always there, and he wanted to make sure they had enough, just in case Chris hadn't gone to the drugstore lately. He whines pitifully in the back of his throat. Chris was already down on his knees, licking and biting his way across Darren's hip bones. He can feel the sting as Chris sucks hard on particularly tender-skinned areas, bursting the capillaries under the skin and leaving mouth-shaped marks behind. 

"Chris, wait." The words take almost inhuman effort to choke out. 

_Fuck, fuck, fucking, fuck._

The sight of Chris staring up at him from on his knees, eyes glazed, and lips wet and red from devouring Darren's skin, makes his own legs nearly buckle, sending him crashing down onto the floor with him. He hates himself, the world, and everything in it for what he is about to say. 

"I kinda don't have any supplies on me."

He watches as Chris' face goes from confused to a slow, agitated realization.

"You don't have..."

He sighs, his shoulders slumping forward. "I took my box to your place. Didn't really have any need for them here." It was ironic, this was probably the first time since he was sixteen years old that he didn't have a supply of condoms stashed away, and it was also undeniably the worst he'd ever needed one. He had zero intention of having sex with anyone other than Chris, so he hadn't thought twice about taking the box from his own bathroom cabinet to Chris' house for them to use. And they had, repeatedly. But now here they are without, and Darren feels like a total asshole for not being prepared.

He runs a hand through his hair, making the curls spring up in a hundred different directions, preparing to apologize for being an inept bastard, when Chris slides both of his arms around Darren's waist suddenly, nuzzling his face into the soft pocket of skin on his lower stomach. He kisses down, down, his lips moving right over the button and zipper of Darren's jeans to mouth at the shape of his cock beneath . "We'll manage. I just need you." Darren watches silently, the blood pounding in his ears making plenty enough noise as it is, as Chris quickly undoes the button and lowers the zipper. He pulls the fly of Darren's jeans open enough to reveal a V of the blue cotton boxer briefs underneath them, tight and stretched over his erection. He leans forward and kisses the line of Darren's dick, as much of it as he can reach. 

"I can still touch you and make it good for you." The words are murmured right against his cock, and Darren finds himself nodding frantically. He would probably agree to just about anything with Chris' gorgeous face against his dick like that. "Come on." Chris stands and grabs Darren's wrist, pulling him down the hall in the direction of his bedroom. He leaves the light off, switching on the small lamp on Darren's nightstand instead. He toes off his shoes and then starts to work at the buttons of his black shirt. Chris stops with his hands still on the third button. He raises an eyebrow at where Darren is paused in the doorway, jeans undone and breathing raggedly. Chris raises one eyebrow at him. "You'll need to be a little more naked than that."

In his defense, watching Chris undress in the low, warm lamplight is enough to mesmerize anyone. The soft, gold light glows off his white skin, as his chest and arms are revealed to Darren's eyes. His own gaze smolders from across the room as he unfastens his belt and pushes the tight black pants down his long, toned legs. Fuck, how was he even real? Darren's mouth goes dry. No matter how many times he's seen it, Chris undressing in front of him, _for_ him, is enough to make his heart stutter in his chest. Chris' lips quirk into a tiny smile. "Pants, Darren."

_Oh, right._ He clumsily pulls off his shoes and socks and then yanks down his jeans and boxer briefs in one hard tug. They barely hit the floor before he is rushing across the room and colliding his chest against Chris' with a desperate noise. He can't see all of that skin, and not _touch_. Chris still has his briefs on, a tiny, dark red pair that only make his sculpted abs and thighs look more defined, and barely cover the curving shape of his long, hard cock. Darren rubs himself up against them, sticky precome staining the material almost black. 

Chris grins and kisses over Darren's ear and down the side of his neck, to his shoulder. His strong, warm hands stroke Darren's back, his hips, coming to rest again on the fat cheeks of his ass. They cup and flex against the fleshy globes and Darren can't do anything but rock himself against Chris' firm body and try to breathe. 

"You've still got lube here, right?" Chris' voice is raspy and hot against his ear. Darren just nods against his shoulder. The drag of his naked erection against Chris' trapped one is good, but not nearly good enough at the moment. "Go get it and lay on the bed, Dare." His hands give Darren's ass a final squeeze before stepping back and Darren stumbles a little over his feet. 

Darren grabs the bottle from its handy position under the edge of his mattress. Some things he _does_ have use for, even when Chris isn't around. Chris laughs quietly and rolls his eyes when he sees where it had been stashed. Darren just shrugs. Easy access. He climbs onto the bed to face him, figuring that mutual handjobs are as good as this night is going to get. Darren promises himself in the back of his mind that tomorrow he is going to go out and buy the biggest box of condoms that he can find. Possibly two boxes. Possibly stock in a condom company. 

Chris leans in and kisses him. It's slow, easy and unhurried, the exact opposite of the kisses they shared by the door. His jaw is cupped in Chris' hand, as he thumbs the scruff all along Darren's chin. Darren finds himself sinking into the kiss and against Chris' body. 

"Lay down, dummy." He feels Chris mouth the request against his lips with barely any sound, and then hands are pushing firmly at his shoulders, maneuvering Darren's body until he lies face down on the bed. "We're going to have to be a little inventive here."

Darren likes the sound of inventive. He feels Chris settle behind him, moving to straddle one of Darren's legs. He can still feel the heat of Chris' hard cock and heavy balls through his underwear, the weight of them now rests on the back of Darren's lower thigh. All that he can see is the light color of his bedspread below him, he tries not to rub his own leaking dick against the soft blanket too much while he waits to see what Chris has in mind. 

There are strong, warm hands on his shoulders, they trail slowly down his spine inch by inch. Chris massages the tension out of Darren's muscles, working out any knots and making his entire body feel boneless and limp. Well, not his _entire_ body. Chris takes his time working his way back down to the swell of his naked ass. Darren shudders when Chris traces the crack with feather light touches, causing goosebumps to break out all over his skin. He outlines the shapes with his fingernails, scraping across the the bottom curves where the cheeks melt into his thighs. The light dusting of black hair that grows wild across the lower half, catches under Chris' nails and causes him to clench spastically. 

"You are gorgeous like this." Chris' voice is so soft that Darren's ears strain to hear him over the pounding of his own pulse. His hands are pushing, moving, up, down, together, releasing them to bounce apart. "So fucking perfect, Dare. You don't even know." He's playing, _looking_. Darren lets him look all he wants.

"I have heard that before. Once or twice." Darren turns his head to the side, already sweating from the way his face has been buried into the bed. He moans loudly when Chris' hands push apart, spreading him open wide and holding him there. "Chris, fuck! You need to do something." It's too open, too exposed and he feels himself clench at nothing.

"I am. I'm watching you." He replies back sounding far too pleased with himself. Chris' thumbs massage small circles into the soft, fatty part of his cheeks. 

Darren rocks his hips against the mattress looking for friction, being held open like this but not touched, was making his brain short circuit. Too much and not enough. "Could you fucking do a little more than that, please?" He hisses through his teeth, feeling himself push up and flex open, knowing that Chris is still staring.

"Hmm." Chris hums quietly neither in agreement or complaint, but then Darren feels a dry finger tracing around the wrinkled skin of his rim. He bucks back against it, but Chris keeps his touch teasing, just a light brushing over Darren's twitching hole."This better?" 

"Babe, come on. Please." He barely recognizes the wheezy, begging voice that flows out of his lips. "Chris, come on. Give me something. Please, come on."

It seems to work though, he doesn't hear the cap on the bottle, but suddenly there is a wet, firm touch against where he is flexing. Chris rubs his rim in three slow circles, getting it wet, and then without hesitation, presses one finger through the tight rings of muscle and up into Darren's body.

It surprises him more than it burns. The choking curse that Darren grits out, is quickly followed by a hurried plea to not take it out, when he feels Chris start to retract his finger. But he doesn't. Chris drizzles more lube from the bottle directly into the crack of Darren's ass and begins to slowly push the single finger in and out. Darren is rocking his body back against it by the fourth press, while Chris' free hand idly pets at his shoulder blades.

"Fuck, you always take the first one so easily." 

Darren doesn't have the same anxiety and smothered feeling that Chris sometimes does when it comes to being stretched. His body opens easily, always ready to feel some part of Chris moving inside of him.

He knows Chris is watching, watching his body open up around first one, and then two of his fingers, watching the way that his ass relaxes and goes soft for him. 

"I wish you could see yourself right now." Chris’ voice is harsh, but sounds awed by the sight, when Darren reaches back behind him and grabs Chris' wrist tightly, stilling his hand. 

"What, you want another one?" 

Darren can only nod, groaning down around a mouthful of the blanket as Chris presses three of his thick fingers together against Darren's rim. He clenches his eyes shut and moves back, fucking his ass onto the fingers in slow, inching thrusts. It's good, not nearly as good as Chris' long, red cock inside of him, but he likes the stretch and the burn as his rim gives up the fight and goes lax around Chris' hand.

"Show me? Show me how you want it, Dare." Chris' words spur him on and he cries out, throwing his head back, setting his knees into the mattress. His entire body rocks back onto Chris' fingers, riding them slowly, in and out. He feels Chris' other hand reach forward to cradle and stroke the wrinkly, sweating skin of his balls. With the way he is rocking on his knees, the head of his cock brushes against the bedspread below him, and Darren feels the tingles of it all the way down to his toes.

Chris moves his body to drape himself over his back, and winds a hand into the loose black curls at the back of Darren's head, pulling, and kissing his neck. "That's it, love. Let me get you there." His breathing is as choppy and harsh in Darren's ear as if he was the one being fucked open. His fingers twist and search, pressing back and in towards his belly, until Darren's back bows sharply and he sees stars in front of his eyes. "There it is. Okay, okay." Chris' murmurs are nonsensical, talking more to himself than anyone else, as he lays over Darren and they rock together, his fingers working the small gland inside Darren's body that is making him feel like he is being slowly electrocuted through a low voltage current.

"Aaaah, fuck, _fuck_." His eyes are clenched shut and he is rocking back and forth, pushing Chris' fingers against the spot over and over, while the other man whispers perfect, dirty love into his hair and in his ear.

Darren feels it coming, feels the jolts of electricity grow hotter, higher, starting in his balls and radiating everywhere. "Chris. Chris, fuck me, I'm... I..."

"I am, my baby. I have you." 

The hand in his hair loosens, and suddenly there is a fist flying around his cock. Darren doesn't last four strokes before he is crying out and coming all over his bed and Chris' hand. 

Darren sees white, white and hot and good. His knees give out, spreading and letting him fall face first into the mess of his own come and sweat on the blanket. He clenches his hands into the bedspread, and tries to clear his mind enough to look back over his shoulder at Chris.

What he sees would make him get hard again if at all possible. Chris has risen up onto his knees, briefs shoved down, and his fist tugging at his own swollen-headed, red dick. It shines wetly, and part of Darren's mind realizes beyond his post-orgasmic haze, that he is using Darren's come to help jerk himself off. Chris’ eyes are trained on Darren's ass, now swollen and stretched open. His face is tense, his eyes are a wide, vivid blue-gray. Nothing's ever been more beautiful.

"What do you want me to do?" Darren asks, pushing up on his forearms to turn over.

"N-no. Just, just let me..." His breaths come out in short pants, as Chris leans forward and slots himself between the lube-sticky cheeks. He wraps an arm around Darren's body, pressing his stomach to Darren's lower back, and begins to rock his hips in jerky, unsteady thrusts.

Darren winces when he feels the wide crown of Chris' cock slide roughly against his swollen rim. He is over sensitive already and he hisses, but it's worth it to hear the whimpering moan of his own name from Chris' lips. Seconds later he feels the first hot string of come land across his ass, and between, then the small of his back, Chris making choked-off groaning noises as he ruts himself against Darren's body until his breathing slows.

Chris drops heavily onto his back. Darren pets at one of his thighs as they both come down from the clouds.

"...lor." Chris is snickering against the back of his head.

He totally missed whatever Chris is mumbling in the sleepy tone against the back of his neck. 

"Huh?"

However Darren doesn't miss the single fingertip that slips down and traces his puffed up rim, dipping inside and out, smearing come around lazily, making him jump and hiss. "Chris! Ow, watch it!"

"Sorry." Chris chuckles and pulls his finger away, rolling over to lay beside Darren on his back so they can see each other's faces. "Your ass and your lips, they're the exact same color pink."

His jaw drops open. "My ass and my.... Okay, you did not just say that."

"It was just an observation! I am sort of intimately familiar with both." Chris leans in and presses a quick kiss to the corner of Darren's mouth. When he pulls away, Chris stares at his lips. "Very pink."

Darren hides his face down in the now disgusting blanket and laughs.

"So... that was weird. Hot, but weird." Chris rolls over, slinging an arm around his chest, and snuggling his face into Darren's sweaty body.

"Yeah," he yawns, patting Chris' hair weakly. "That kinda sums you up." They both turn into cuddle whores at this late hour when they're sated and sleepy.

"'S, what you get for running out of condoms." Chris' voice has gone soft, and sleepy slow. He rubs the tip of his nose across Darren's skin.

"We could just stop using them," he comments lightly, as if he were suggesting they take a walk in the park. He pillows one arm behind his head, and goes on playing with Chris' hair. "I'm sure there's some environmentally healthy reason to do that, plus it saves money. But seriously, I don't plan on being with anyone else, and I don't think you are either. I'm just saying we _could_. I know the cleanup is a bitch, but you didn't seem to mind too much four minutes ago when you were coming all over my ass."

Chris turns his head to look up at him. Darren can see the thought actually cycling inside his mind through his jewel-tone eyes, a bright spark of actual interest. "Maybe. But only in _your_ bed, I'm not having this messy shit in mine." Chris kisses one of Darren ribs, and lays his head back down, closing his eyes.

He could deal with maybe. Darren grins up at the ceiling. "So making love bare and fucking filthy is on the table, as long as it's in my bed. I'll have to remember that."

He feels Chris snort against his chest. "Let me guess, you call what we just did love making, too."

"What do you call it, wise guy?" He tugs on a price of Chris' hair teasingly.

"Fucking your ass with my fingers so hard you are going to hate me tomorrow?"

Darren lays perfectly still for a moment after Chris stops talking. _Always so damn cynical._ Suddenly he is rolling over on top of Chris and grabbing both of his hands, holding them over his head. Chris scowls up at him, tired irritation clear in his face. "Only going to say this one more time, Colfer. I loved it, you loved it, and we love each other. We _made_ love, you contrary asshole. It's something that we did with our bodies and it felt amazing as hell. We loved it, and that's what it is, and you're just going to have to accept it." Darren leans down and brushes his lips against Chris' clenched up jaw. "No matter how we fuck, it's always love for us and you know it."

Chris' blue eyes narrow into a glare. Neither of them speak or move. Darren isn't letting him win this one. 

Chris finally rolls his eyes with a huff, he isn't entirely successful in hiding his twitch of a smile. "Can I go to sleep now, cheese master?" 

"What's the magic word?"

"Darren, get the fuck off of me!" Chris twists underneath him.

He leans down and steals Chris' lips with his. "Love you, too, Christopher."

Chris grunts and kicks his long legs out, trying to buck Darren off his body. "Go to sleep, Dummy."

"That's Dinkus to you, Mist- Ow! Fuck, Colfer! Jesus." Darren jumps at the sudden smack on his naked, admittedly sore ass. 

Chris' dimpled, face scrunching grin is blinding. He's sex rumpled, shining with sweat, and beaming up at Darren. So fully in his skin at the moment, so comfortable with Darren in a way that he never is with anyone else, that he takes Darren's breath and makes his heart throb violently in his chest.

Chris teases him and wriggles around to make himself comfortable in the mattress. "You were saying?"

They can sleep later, he wants more of this happy, sex loose, playful man that only he will ever see. This Chris is a person that only Darren will ever know, and it's a gift and an honor to be the one he's chosen to share himself with.

Darren grabs a pillow from behind him. 

_Oh, it is on._


	50. Higher - Darren and Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Desi, what is your obsession with pulling? You pull this, you pull that. You keep pulling down Chris' pants."
> 
> "...I do?"
> 
> "You might as well!"
> 
> Song used in this chapter "[Come On Get Higher](http://youtu.be/_forXwzM3BU)" by Matt Nathanson

There are not many things that Darren isn't good at. That may make him an egotistical shithead, but it's still true. There are a few things. He's never been very good with impulse control, when a thought flares into his mind, he just kind of goes for it. He can't be still to save his life, some part of him is almost always in motion. Drumming his fingers, shaking his leg. He's sort of a shitty cook no matter how many times he has tried to perfect that particular skill set. Luckily in this day and age, it's relatively easy to live on sandwiches and take out. That one time he had tried to water ski had been an epic fail. Something about his body just was not designed to float on top of the water, he sank like a stone.

Another thing he sucks at? Being ignored. Darren has never been able to stand not being the center of attention in almost any situation he is in. This goes back to when he was a little kid and craved the constant attention and focus of both of his parents and his brother. He had always been a cute kid, and he knew it and used it. Once he was old enough to be in school, the potential audience had only grown exponentially. Teachers, his friends. He loved being the center of attention and being able to entertain. He was good at it. Darren thrives and flows under the attention and praise of others, it's just who he is.

He can remember being a kid and anytime that his mom would get a phone call, he would feel this sudden burning need to have all of her focus back upon him. He would make a lot of noise, ask her incessant questions, literally hang from his mother's legs until she would have to hang up and give him an exasperated look and an "Enough, Pogito. What do you want?". It was a question Darren was always quick to answer with a wide grin and a fluttering of his eye lashes, all chubby cheeks and round greenish-gold eyes, that never failed to make his mom laugh. Yeah, he was kind of a brat, but at least he was a fucking adorable one.

Maybe he hasn't matured all that much in the past twenty years, because he still sucks at being ignored.

Chris warned him ahead of time that he needed to put in a few solid work days on his next book. He was aiming to get the principal writing done before they went back to filming in just a couple of weeks, and there was a lot left to do before then. He told Darren that he was welcome to stay over and hang out here, but that he needed to get this chapter done. Chris wouldn't be able to keep him entertained all day. But telling and actually _understanding_ , two totally different things. Darren doesn't think there is any circumstance in the world that would make him willingly agree to choose his big empty bed, over sleeping curled up in Chris' arms. They both smell like the same bottle of body wash, both all damp-skinned and sleepy warm from giggly, slippery sex in the shower. Of course he stayed, he would always pick staying near Chris over anything else.

But as he sits on the floor in Chris' office the following afternoon and audibly sighs for the fifth time in the last half hour, he is reminded of the fact that he really blows at being ignored. He looks up at Chris through his eyelashes, no reaction. He gives no acknowledgment of Darren even still being in the room. When Chris completely immerses himself into his make believe worlds, nothing else exists. He's been at it all day, shoulders hunched forward where he sits at his desk, only looking up from his laptop every half an hour or so to stretch his strong arms over his head with a groan, or request another soda from the fridge. His glasses sit a little crooked across the bridge of his nose. His unstyled, thick hair is a chaotic mess from scratching at it with his fingernails every time he gets to a spot where he has to dig through his mind to come up with the exact words he wants to use to paint the detailed picture he sees inside his head. He looks so natural and comfortable like this, and Darren knows more than ever that this is where Chris was truly meant to be and what he wants. 

Darren knows that this is important to Chris, and so it is by extension, important as hell to himself too, but after several hours of this, he has reached his breaking point. There's no harm in taking a break, right? It's healthy even. He pushes himself up off the floor, and comes to stand behind Chris' desk chair. The other man's focus doesn't waver from the screen in front of him, not even when Darren's hands start to rub either side of his neck. He presses his thumbs firmly into the soft spot behind Chris' ears. "I think you need a break."

Chris' eyebrows quirk up and fall back down, his eyes never moving from the strings of black characters he keeps typing into the white space of the document on his computer screen. "Later." He doesn't even try to sound convincing, and Darren is distantly surprised that Chris heard him at all. "Wanna get to the end of this part." His fingers keep flying over the keys with soft clacking sounds.

Darren sighs again, of course it isn't going to be that easy. He tries another approach. "Your ass has to have fallen asleep by now. Come on, at least get up and come eat something." He rocks the rolling desk chair back and forth, until Chris plants his feet on the floor, preventing it from moving.

"My ass is fine, Darren. I really need to finish this." Those bright blue eyes flick up to him only momentarily, just long enough to shoot Darren a warning glare before lowering back to the computer. 

Darren pouts his lips, clearly this is going to take some direct intervention. All work no play, makes Colfer a dull boy... and drives Darren's need for attention into action. He leans over the back of the chair and grabs both of Chris' wrists, stilling his hands over the keys. This earns him a low growling sound from below him, that Darren completely ignores. He moves one hand to the track pad of the laptop and opens a web browser. He types one handed and pulls up a video site. 

"Leave my- Darren!" Chris huffs and snatches his hands away, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. 

"One dance." 

Chris rolls his eyes behind his glasses. "I am not dancing with you."

 _You wanna make that a bet?_

Darren presses play on the video, and turns the volume up as loud as the laptop's small speakers will allow. He rolls the chair back across the floor a few feet, and moves around to stand in between Chris and the desk as the music starts to play. He smirks down at him, swaying his hips back and forth to the easy acoustic beat of the song, mouthing the lyrics.

_I miss the sound of your voice_  
 _And I miss the rush of your skin_  
 _And I miss the still of the silence_  
 _As you breathe out and I breathe in..._

Chris' lips press together tightly, twisting at the edges in a way that betrays the smile they're trying to conceal. 

_If I could walk on water_  
 _If I could tell you what's next_  
 _I'd make you believe_

 

"You're an idiot."

Darren is _his_ idiot, and he doesn't want to be anything else. He grabs Chris' crossed arms and pulls insistently until the other man sighs and stands up to face him.

_So come on, get higher, loosen my lips_  
 _Faith and desire and the swing of your hips_  
 _Just pull me down hard_  
 _And drown me in love_  
 _So come on, get higher, loosen my lips_  
 _Faith and desire and the swing of your hips_  
 _Just pull me down hard_  
 _And drown me in love..._

He wraps his arms around Chris' waist, moving himself against the warm, firm body against it. He stares into Chris' unfairly gorgeous eyes and lip syncs the words that he didn't write, but feels in every cell of his body.

_I miss the sound of your voice_  
 _Loudest thing in my head_  
 _And I ache to remember_  
 _All the violent, sweet_  
 _Perfect words that you said..._

"Dance with me," he urges, moving one of his thighs between Chris' legs. "Vacation's almost over, Angel. Got to get you back into practice." 

_If I could walk on water_  
 _If I could tell you what's next_  
 _I'd make you believe_  
 _I'd make you forget..._

Chris does eventually slide his arms around Darren's neck, his posture relaxes until they are moving in perfect tandem together. Their bodies are so used to syncing and rolling as one unit, dancing, in bed, aligning together to lay on the narrow space of Chris' couch, the way he pressed his entire body against Darren's in the shower the night before, moving inside of him. Arms that wrap around his chest to hold him tight, one strong hand that grips onto his hip, Chris' dick that feels goddamn magical inside of his body, the way he is the perfect height to crane their necks around to touch their gasping, trembling lips together even from behind. They fit, fit together like no one else in the world.

_So come on, get higher, loosen my lips_  
 _Faith and desire and the swing of your hips_  
 _Just pull me down hard_  
 _And drown me in love_  
 _So come on, get higher, loosen my lips_  
 _Faith and desire and the swing of your hips_  
 _Just pull me down hard_  
 _And drown me in love..._

Chris whispers against his ear, lips tickling Darren's skin. "I've missed dancing with you."

He feels Chris smile almost bashfully, ducking his head against his cheek, as they move around Chris' small office, their bare feet soundless on the wooden floor. The afternoon sunlight that streams in through the window casts stripes of light and shadow across their faces.

Darren smiles back and presses his grin against the side of Chris' hair.

_I miss the pull of your heart_  
 _I taste the sparks on your tongue_  
 _I see angels and devils_  
 _And God, when you come on_  
 _Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on..._

Chris turns in his arms, pressing his back against Darren's chest as they move to the rhythm of the song and he can feel the vibration through their shirts, when Chris quietly sings along under his breath. He tugs one of Darren's arms tighter around the front of his body, and closes his eyes. It's the reversed mirror image of the way they stood in the shower last night, and he wonders if Chris' little crooked smile, one dimple showing in his right cheek, means he is thinking of it, too. His face looks like the picture of contentment, calm and untroubled by anything, and Darren realizes just how much he doesn't want this summer to end. They may not get every day together, but what ones they do, they belong to them. Days like these will be almost impossible once they resume filming for the show. Darren's hand splays wide across Chris' firm stomach, his fingers spreading to cover as much of the space as possible, while Chris whispers the lyrics and sways his sinful hips against him. He'd stay right where he is, forever if he could.

_It's all wrong, it's all wrong_  
 _It's all wrong, it's so right_  
 _So come on, get higher_  
 _So come on and get higher_  
 _'Cause everything works, love_  
 _Everything works in your arms_

When the song ends, Darren has his face pressed into the back of Chris' shoulder, soft cotton grazing his nose and his lips. He feels Chris start to move away, and his hold around his stomach tightens on instinct. He doesn't want Chris to move even a foot away from him. 

He fights free of Darren's clinging arms and the hand now clutching at the side of his shirt. "Okay. You said one dance, we danced. Now I really need to get back to this." Chris sits back down in his chair and straightens his glasses on his face, preparing to once again tune out the real world in favor of his fairies and heroes. Darren isn't ready to surrender him to it just yet. He rushes around to block Chris from his desk just as he begins to push himself forward towards the computer.

"One more song! I think you need the practice." 

He starts typing in the search bar to find a faster song for them to dance to, but stops when he is pulled away from the laptop from behind. Chris tugs him backwards away from the desk, until Darren stumbles back and down onto his lap. 

"Exactly what part of one song did you not understand?" He tries to make his tone stern, but Darren can hear the smile in his voice, he can see it in his eyes. Darren squirms around on Chris' lap, moving to sit sideways and throws his legs over the arm of the chair. Chris has to wrap both of his arms around him, and hold onto Darren to keep him from falling on the floor, something Darren isn't complaining about one bit.

"The part where you are telling me no?" He pulls out his best sad puppy eyes, making Chris throw back his head and laugh. The sound of it thrills him down to his toes, spreading liquid warmth simmering through his veins. Darren could live the rest of his life inside of that sound.

They're both so caught up in each other that they miss the clack of heels on the hardwood floor until Chris' friend pokes her head into the door of the office. "Chris?"

Darren jumps back so suddenly that if it weren't for Chris bracing his hands against his back, he would have crashed onto the floor. 

\----

Chris had forgotten all about Alla saying she was going to stop by before she has to return to New York. He was just looking up and tilting his head to press their lips together and kiss the ridiculous pout off of Darren's face, when her voice popped their bubble, like someone taking a pin to an inflated balloon. He feels Darren go tense, the muscles in his back tightening under Chris' hands. He knows why, he gets it, neither of them have a lot of experience being _them_ in front of other people. And even though Alla is probably the safest person in the world in terms of being walked in on, the entire situation breeds anxiety. His hands move in soothing circles over Darren's back. If they are ever going to be together in the ways that they want, he can't keep the different parts of his life separate any longer. Darren pushes back and climbs off of his lap, shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts, and walking backwards slowly as if they were actually doing something wrong. 

Chris sighs and turns to look back at his friend. There's a pinched look on Alla's face that tells Chris she is feeling as awkward and uncomfortable as Darren appears to feel. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that... It's just, you said on the phone that you would be writing, and I know that you tend to get wrapped up in it. I just used my key." She twists her hands around the handle of the bag she is holding, and her eyes flit between Chris' face and where Darren is standing stiffly against the wall, looking like he wishes he was a chameleon, and could just blend in with the walls of his office. "I only stopped by to see that everything is going well. I should just let you enjoy your day with..." Chris can see her mouth falter around whatever word she was going to use to describe Darren and his role in his life. It was no easy thing to do, Chris knows that better than anyone. She smiles tightly and looks back over at Darren. "It's good to see you again, Darren."

"Uh, yeah. You, too." Darren nods and the look that he gives her back is more of twisting grimace than a smile, just a quick flash of his teeth behind his lips, before it falls from his face and his eyes drift back to the floor.

Chris places both his hands on the desk and stands slowly. He doesn't want this. These are two people who are huge factors in his life, and he doesn't want them to have to feel so strained and uncomfortable around each other. Alla is his friend, someone he trusts and works with closely, one of the few people in the world that he trusts to have his back implicitly. And Darren... there just isn't a word for what he is. The closest way he could explain it, is that he is a part of him. His blood is made up of red and white cells, platelets, plasma, and Darren. 

He walks over to Alla and takes her purse from her hands. "No, okay you're not leaving. You have to go back to New York tomorrow, and we haven't had a chance to sit and talk for a while. There's no reason that anyone has to leave." He stops and looks over his shoulder at Darren. "You win, looks like I'm done for the day." 

Darren's eyes soften under Chris' smile and his shoulders relax as he steps away from the wall. He walks over to stand behind him and his fingers linger for just seconds against Chris' arm. "Glad to hear it." He walks around them both and picks up his spare guitar that now lives in Chris' office. The same one that Chris will never admit has spent a few nights laying in his bed next to him when Darren has been away, and he feels the pangs of loneliness or insomnia start to rage inside of him. "I'm going to just go out back and let you two talk." There's no question what Chris and Alla are sure to be discussing. Him. Darren brushes his lips against the side of Chris' jaw, Alla's eyes widening as he does so. He begins to step away when Chris' voice stops him.

"You're not leaving, right? I don't want you to." The last thing he wants is for Darren to have to run and hide. Alla may not have always been the most supportive person about the idea of a relationship between them, but she loves him and will always respect what he wants. And what he wants right now is to be able to be around two people that he cares deeply about, and not feel like they are all walking barefoot over broken glass. Darren is looking at him from where he stopped in the hallway, one hand against the doorframe and the other wrapped around the neck of his guitar.

"Please stay." _We don't have to hide, not here. You are both my family. Please stay with me?_

"Not going anywhere. I mean, you said something about cookies and Downton Abbey." The statement holds the weight of a promise with the way Darren's eyes look straight into his and deeper down, seeing into Chris and recognizing that this meant something to him. "I'll take the dog out with me." Darren pats the wood of the doorframe once, and unleashes his most charming grin on Alla, the same one that Chris has seen melt far colder hearts than hers. "Have fun, kids." Darren hums the song they had danced to as he turns and walks down the hallway.

Chris and Alla both watch him go, silently. There is a searching, questioning look on her face that makes Chris' stomach knot. He clears his throat and plays with the hem of his t-shirt. "Want me to make some tea for you? There should still be some lemonade in there, too. He drinks the stuff like it's going out of style."

She rolls her eyes at him and shoves Chris hard in the chest before snatching her purse from his hands. "Open a bottle of wine, Chris. I think we both may need it."

Chris closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Well, he _did_ ask for this. He follows her down the hall to do as she asked.

He is standing at the sink in his kitchen, mixing the ingredients for a batch of pecan chocolate chip cookies in a large plastic mixing bowl. Alla is sitting on the countertop a few feet down from him, listening as he tells her all about Hannah's birthday a couple of days ago. She is quiet, watching him with perceptive, calm, blue eyes and sipping the glass of Pinot Grigio he'd poured for her. 

"Are you going to try and visit before you have to start filming?"

Chris shrugs one shoulder and keeps his eyes on the thick, sticky mass in the bowl. "I'd like to, but it's coming up so soon, and I have this deadline hanging over my head." It's a flimsy excuse and he knows it.

Alla's lips press together and she glances out of the window that looks out over the backyard. "And you want to spend what time you can with Darren." She states it as a fact, and it is.

Almost as if by hearing the name, his body acts without his brain's consent, and his head snaps up and looks out his kitchen window. Darren is sitting with his guitar on his knees but he isn't playing. His eyes are closed, his head back and tilted up towards the sky, as if the clouds or the wind are whispering the notes they want him to play. They probably are. Chris catches himself and feels the blood rush into his face. He turns and finds his friend watching him closely. She climbs down off of the counter and comes to stand beside him, leaning back against it so that they can see each other, while Chris finishes adding the small bag of chopped nuts to the dough mixture.

"I was wrong about him, and about you. Mainly about him." She looks over his arm at Darren through the window. Chris looks at her confused. Alla sighs and picks up his own glass of wine, handing it back to him. She waits until he obligingly takes a sip before she explains. "I've known you for a long time, and you are such an amazing person, Chris. You work hard and give so much of yourself and your time. You deserve to be happy." Her eyes drift back and forth between him and Darren outside. A hesitant smile plays on her lips. "I don't think I have ever heard you laugh as hard as you were when I got here, I should have guessed that he was here. He's always made you laugh the hardest." Looking down at the wineglass in her hand, Chris can see her steeling herself to say something that she has pre-drafted in her mind, so he stays silent. "I've always thought that he was this destructive force in your life, that all he brings to you is confusion, pain. I wanted to try to protect you from that if I could, because I do love you, Chris. You are a grown man, you don't need me or anyone else to look out for you. Not that way. You _are_ different around him, it's almost like seeing you playing a role, but you aren't acting. This you that stands differently, and leans into touch instead of shying away from it, this you that laughs easier, it is you, a side of you that only exists around Darren. I've been judging him unfairly, my perception was skewed because I wanted to protect you from getting your heart broken, but that's what it is when he isn't around, isn't it?" She shyly looks back out at where Darren is now sitting right on the grass, guitar forgotten, throwing a tennis ball for Cooper.

Chris doesn't say anything, he can't. The confirmation of what he thought, and what he feels from someone that he loves and respects so much, feels like a weight being lifted off of his chest. Cinder blocks pushed away and letting him breathe easier, the sudden rush of oxygen makes him dizzy. He pauses only for long enough to wipe his hands off on a dish towel beside the sink, before he wraps his arms around her and squeezes tight. "Thank you." They hug until the oven timer dings across the kitchen and alerts them that it's preheated ,and it is time to put the cookies in to bake.

Chris scoops most of the dough out onto the cookie sheet, leaving one large spoonful unbaked. Alla sits at the table with Brian, cooing and scratching under his chin. Chris puts two sheets of cookies into the oven and resets the timer. He picks up the bowl and walks over to the back door. "Hey, come here, test subject!"

Darren's head snaps up when he hears Chris' voice and he smiles and walks over to him. His eyes rake over Chris' face, noticing the overly bright eyes and blushing cheeks, the clearest signs that Chris was feeling something of significance. "Everything okay?"

Everything was perfect. Darren was here and for the first time, someone besides themselves, actually seems to think that's a good thing. Someone else thinks they just might be okay. "I don't know. Try this and you tell me." Chris holds out the large mixing spoon for him to take.

Instead of grabbing it, Darren leans down and takes a bite of the raw cookie dough from the spoon. He closes his eyes and makes a low groaning sound that takes Chris' mind back to their late night activities in the shower the night before, causing his cheeks and the tips of his ears to stain from pink, to a flushed beet red. "Fucking amazing." He watches Darren's tongue clean the sticky cookie dough from his lips.

_Tease._

"Really, it's great. You try it yet?"

Chris shakes his head. The ritual went back years, back to one of the first times he and Darren hung out a couple of weeks after they met. Chris mixed up a batch of cookies at Darren's old apartment one evening, and had ended up only baking four. Darren ate the rest of the batter right out of the bowl. From that day on, he always saved Darren a spoonful to taste test whenever he was baking. It had nothing at all to do with the way Darren's plush pink lips looked wrapped around a spoon or the end of a spatula. Nope, nothing whatsoever. 

Darren's forehead crinkles as he pokes his bottom lip out into a pout. "Just try it. Just this once? That food poisoning stuff is bullshit." He attempts to shoot down Chris' original, but still well-founded, argument.

"It has raw egg in it, pretty sure it's not bullshit."

Darren just rolls his eyes, and then pinches off a tiny amount of dough with his fingers, and before Chris can push him away, has them shoved between his lips. Chris squeaks out a surprised noise and backs into the partially open door behind him. "Darren! You were playing with the dog's ball, you asshole! You just got dog drool in my mouth."

Rolling his eyes, Darren leans in and pecks Chris on the lips. "You'll survive. Besides a dog's mouth is cleaner than a human's."

Chris huffs and shoves him back out into the yard, slamming the door behind him. He can see, but not hear, Darren laughing on the other side, so Chris glares at him through the glass and then lowers the blinds for good measure. He's nearly forgotten all about Alla's presence, when he turns and puts the bowl into the sink. She is hiding her own quiet laugh behind her hand. He glares at her over the rim of his wine glass, taking a large gulp to rinse out his mouth. He drops into the chair beside hers, and kicks at her foot when she won't stop grinning.

"Do _not_ encourage him."

She shakes her head and moves her chair farther away, out of the kicking range of his long legs. "I don't think I'd have to." 

Chris rolls his eyes, making her giggle again. 

She reaches out and grabs the cat who’s laying on top of the table, where Chris doesn't allow him to be, down into her lap. "The two of you, it's really... something. He looks at you like you are solely responsible for putting the sun up into the sky each morning. Like nothing else has ever been more miraculous or more important to anyone."

Chris looks down and studies the wood grain pattern of the tabletop. It's a fair enough assessment. The way Darren looks at him has always made Chris feel both raw and unworthy, wanted and weighted, all at once. "I know," he sighs trying to think about how to explain it all to her. This is one of the first times he has ever gotten to truly explain how he feels about all of this to anyone, and the words take him a few minutes to find. "He's always laid his heart at my feet like that, right from the very beginning. I was just too stupid or scared to ever pick it up."

"Chris, you picked it up a long time ago. You would pick it up and squeeze it too tightly, but as soon as you took a breath and realized what you were doing, then you would throw it as hard as you could against a wall." The gentle sympathy and understanding in her face makes Chris' throat feel tight.

Because she's right. He has loved him so much for so long, but always in abrupt starts and stops, letting himself over-think what he felt, until it caused him to push Darren away and run. He isn't proud of the way they've both hurt each other, and knows that the people in their lives have all seen the ugliest sides of their relationship.

"I know," he swallows. "I know we've gone about things the wrong way. I-"

Her hand reaches out and covers his, he hadn't realized it had started clenching into a tight fist on top of the table. "You were both so young, you still are. You live in a crazy, complicated world with rules and expectations that most people can't even begin to grasp. I can't imagine what falling in love inside that vacuum like you did must have been like. You shouldn't blame yourself for not instantly knowing how to handle that. I know you, Chris, and I have watched you grow into this confident, incredible man. You don't just hold onto his heart now, you've picked it up and pushed it inside your chest next to your own."

He threads his fingers through hers and looks up at her face. He feels young, unsure, like the short span of years between their ages is a lot bigger than it actually is. "What if we mess up though, Al? I..." He locks his lips and struggles with himself not to look back out the window again. "I don't think there is any starting over for me after this." He knows there isn't. 

Her smile is warm and she rubs his forearm with the hand he isn't clinging onto. "You will both mess up, and then you will fix it. You are stubborn, if he's what you want, then you will find a way to make it work. I won't lie, it isn't going to be pretty, not for anyone involved. I don't know what his plans are, but it's easy to imagine that the people in Darren's team won't make it easy for him to get out and come clean. I know some of the players, and they're...well, you know it, too. It's a dirty business, sweetheart. I don't have to tell you that. But I'm here for both of you if you decide that's what you want. I'll help however I can."

Chris squeezes her hand. He doesn't know when or even if that will ever be the path they're on. It's something he tries to make peace with every day. But knowing that someone would be on their side, means more than she could ever know, and tears burn behind Chris' eyes. He squints his eyes shut around them, refusing to let them fall. Alla just laughs and her hand pulls free of his, as she stands and grabs the bottle of wine from the counter. She refills Chris' glass to the top.

"You need this." 

Heavy conversation ends with her promise to him. He invited her to stay for dinner, but she declines, saying that she already has plans with a friend. Before she leaves, she hugs both of them tightly. Darren looks surprised at that, but pleased, wrapping his arms around her tiny frame and hugging her back. He knows what she means to Chris. Before they pull away, Chris sees her whisper something to Darren that he can't make out. 

Darren shakes his head no, and confusingly murmurs "I know that, I am."

Alla nods and looks up at him for a long moment. "Good."

The question flares up in Chris like a flame. Nothing burns your curiosity, like a secret kept between two people, that you aren't let in on.

"That's not fair!" He knows he's whining, but he is too relaxed and buzzed to care. 

He and Darren had taken the rest of the bottle of Pinot and the plate of cookies out into the backyard after she left. The sun has gone down, staining the sky to a twilight purple-blue as the lights of Los Angeles flicker on and glow around them. Chris is leaning back against Darren’s warm, firm chest, sitting between his thighs, as the other man traces random shapes onto Chris' stomach with his fingers. He is infuriatingly calm and quiet behind him. He's asked at least twenty times what Alla said to him before she turned, gave Chris a bright smile, and walked out the door with a little laugh bubbling from her lips. But Darren won't budge on the issue.

"Life's not fair, Colfer." Chris can feel Darren's words rumble against his back. He's pulled his shirt up to just under his armpits, and is tracing what feels like song lyrics onto the exposed skin of Chris' pale stomach. He thinks he is able to make out the words "grace", "fall", and something about "pearls" but maybe that is just the wine. 

"Can I at least have a hint?" He's willing to take what he can get, as desperate as he feels to know what their secret conversation had been about. 

Darren nuzzles his face into the sensitive skin at the back of Chris' neck, wet lips grazing the top knob of his spine. "Fine. You are the most incredible man in the whole goddamn world, and I don't know why you are sitting out here with my dumb ass."

"That isn't a hint!" Chris huffs and pinches the meaty inside of Darren's thigh. 

"Um, ow?" Darren jerks his leg out of Chris' grasp, spreading his thighs wider and suddenly causing Chris to slide further down against his body. He'd gone so loose and pliant in Darren's arms, that he hadn't realized the other man was supporting all of his body weight. Chris' head now rests on Darren's lower stomach. He tips his head back to look up at him. The lights from inside the house catch in Darren's eyes, and make them glow amber-gold. The gold, the violet blue sky above them, and the black of Darren's t-shirt cause Chris to think of velvet and his fingers itch for his computer or a pen and paper. Darren gazes down at him with an unexpectedly thoughtful look, he thought he'd get more teasing or at least a smug smirk for not being able to let the subject drop. Chris was nothing if not stubborn. Instead, Darren's face is gentle, as are his fingers when he pushes the sweaty messy hair back off of Chris' forehead.

Chris catches the hand with his, and pulls it back to his stomach. He likes the way Darren's fingers feel over his skin, likes the tickle and the way the rough calluses on his fingertips snag and pull at the short hairs that grow beneath his navel. He sighs happily and settles back against him, when they begin to drag across his body again. He opens one eye to look back up at him. "So, my hint?"

"That was your hint. You're amazing, and I love you more than any fucking thing." It does nothing to help Chris figure out what they'd been talking about, but the words make him smile anyway.

"You really suck at giving hints."

"That may be true, babe. That may be true." Darren starts humming again, the low warm tone of his voice filling the air around them, and wrapping around Chris like a blanket. It's the last thing he remembers before drifting off to sleep.


	51. Want - Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you who don't follow the [Shifting Dreams story blog](http://shiftingdreamsfic.tumblr.com), I had a death in the family, and so updates and writing were delayed for a few days. Things are back up and running now. This chapter is a direct continuation of the previous one. 
> 
> Thanks to Lynne and Zinnia as always for their amazing beta work and encouragement.

_”He is insanely in love, and he’d probably be willing to wait for you forever. Please don’t let him. Think about what you want.”_

_”I know that, I am.”_

_”Good.”_

The whispered words haunt him. Despite having polished off three bottles of wine between them, and the soft sound of Chris’ nasally snores in his ear from where he lay behind him, it takes hours for Darren to fall asleep. He stares wide awake and unblinking at the wall of Chris’ dark bedroom and plays with the fingers of the arm that has been thrown around his body when Chris shuffled closer in his sleep.

Knowing what he wants isn’t the issue, it hasn’t been for a long time. He wants this, he wants Chris’ soft sheets that smell like aftershave, and empty wine bottles littered all over the grass in the backyard. He wants raw cookie dough, random pop song lyrics, and that dimple-framed smile that makes him feel like he can’t fucking breathe. This isn’t the dream he grew up having, it’s the one he has grown into. This is where his life has led him, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

But that’s what it is, isn’t it? A trade. Everything is. There’s always a cost, Darren always has to give something in order to get. In exchange for the career he has always wanted, he had to hide parts of himself. To have time that belongs to himself, to have time with Chris, he has to be very good at playing his part in the game. It’s a sad fact, but this has been his life for so long, that he is just used to the give and take now. He gives up parts of himself in order to have what he wants. He gives away his time, his smiles, his words, his truths. He sings songs that he doesn’t believe in, he speaks words that leave the aftertaste of lies in his mouth, he allows himself to be moved around and posed like a doll. He’s learned how to deal with that. It doesn’t feel any differently than he imagines it would if what they asked for was a piece of his physical body instead. A toe here, a hunk of flesh from the back of his thigh there. Sure, go ahead, just make sure that the scars won’t show on camera. He’d do it, Darren knows what he can and can’t live through. 

It’s what he doesn’t know, the uncertainty, that keeps him awake. If he wants to have a life with Chris, wants to build something real and lasting, what is that going to cost him? What will the rest of the world want to take in exchange? 

It’s a question that he knows that he needs to find the answer to, as much as it scares the living shit out of him.

Chris is fully absorbed in his writing the next morning, when Darren tells him that he needs to go run some errands and drop in at his place to pack for his trip. He is distractedly waved off with a quiet grunt, Chris’ eyes never moving from the screen of his laptop. Darren drops a kiss into the top of his hair, and walks out to his car. Pulling out of the drive, he turns onto the street and holds his phone in one hand and the wheel with the other. He presses call, takes a deep breath, and puts the phone up to his ear. Darren knows he is going to think that he’s calling to try and get out of something.

“Hey… Where are you right now? I need to talk to you about something.” He has to smirk. “No, I know. I’ll be there tonight… Yes, I’m for real… I just… No, it’s just something I don’t want to discuss on the phone… It won’t take long. It’s important… Yeah, okay… Okay, cool. I’ll meet you… Twenty minutes.” 

He hangs up and tosses the phone into the empty passenger seat next to him. He merges onto the highway and tries to pretend that his heart isn’t beating right out of his chest. 

For some reason that he can't entirely pin down, he has never felt comfortable meeting with the people who supposedly work _for_ him in their homes, choosing to have them come in to his own environment or sticking to more neutral spaces like offices or even restaurants. Maybe it has something to do with the need to keep some modicum of control when it has always felt far more like he answers to them, than the other way around. He ends up parking outside of a small cafe located only a few blocks from his manager's house. They have met here to conduct more casual business several times, none of the smoke and mirrors, million dollar secrets, but the day-to-day side of his life and career that the other man is paid to oversee. Darren orders only a drink for now, seating himself at one of the small, round tables outside in the sun.

Five minutes later, the chair across the table from him is being pulled out, and his manager sits down. "You can not cancel this trip to New York."

Darren rolls his eyes, he knows that. They are due to meet at L.A.X. the following day to fly out to spend several days in the city for a few promotional events and meetings. As much as he might like to lay around and do absolutely nothing for the next three weeks until it’s time for him to report onto the set, he knows that isn't even a remote possibility. If anything, he will be busier than he has ever been in these last few days before the show takes over his life again. His summer in the sun with Chris is over, it's time to face the real world. Starting with Rick.

"Yeah, I kind of figured that."

"Or the taping tonight." His tone is blunt and clipped as though Darren has pulled him away for something unimportant or trivial.

“I know that, I’m not trying to get out of anything, alright? That’s not what this is all about.” He sighs and fiddles with the crumpled, paper straw wrapper on the table in front of him.

He gets a skeptical look in response. “Okay, let’s hear it then.”

So Darren talks. He explains that he knows that after his summer of near silence, he knows that things are going to be more hectic than ever. They’re going to ask a lot of him now, and he gets that. No one is very happy with him at the moment, but it’s worth it for the freedom he’s been given. These next few weeks will be an endless string of photo ops and appearances, posing and putting on the front. He won’t fight them, he’s going to smile and do as they ask… Let them spin it however they want. Because, at the end of the day, he is coming home to something, to someone. Finally.

Chris isn’t a phase. This isn’t something that Darren is going to be able to keep confined to his bedroom alone, like any other man might be. This is not something that can be easily swept under the rug. Chris is everything, and if they want Darren to behave himself, and be the product they are all so desperate to sell, they will all have to learn to live with that. He will play his part and do it all with a smile, because that’s all it is, it’s an act. The real him will stay behind in the place of cookie dough, freckles, and wine. He won’t pretend Chris doesn’t exist publicly anymore either, they have to be allowed to at least acknowledge each other. After the things that they’ve both said this summer, it would look even stranger than before if they didn’t. In return he will agree to whatever stupid demands that they make on him. Pose with who they want when they ask. He’s gotten quite good at it anyway.

He knows what’s at stake. It isn’t just his reputation and career on the line here. It’s Chris’, too. That is something he would never be willing to risk by just being a dumbass. He will continue to try to be careful, they both will. Now isn’t the time for either of them to slip up and bring the eyes of the world glaring in on them. They’ll get through these next few months, through filming, and then the show’s end, and then… Who knows. What he does know is that no matter what anyone else is planning for him, wants for him, he will be taking Chris with him into anything that he does. There is no other option. He will be in Darren’s eyes, in his voice, in his soul, and hopefully in his life, every single damn day. He needs that to be clear. The world doesn’t have to know it, not yet, but it won’t lessen the truth.

It’s one of the most tense moments that he and his manager have ever shared, even though it’s silent after he finishes pouring his heart out onto the tabletop between them. The other man sits quietly, just staring back at him in front of the small street-side cafe. Darren fights the urge to shake his leg anxiously underneath the table. 

“Is that it?”

Darren blinks rapidly, jaw dropping open a little. _Is that it?_ He’d just laid his heart out on the line and tried to draw a line in the sand about his future, and now the guy is asking him if that’s it? 

“Uh…”

“Because you’re not saying anything that you haven’t been acting on for years already, Darren.” 

His mouth opens and closes for several moments, floundering for words that he can’t find. He is watched closely by the other man who sits with deep amusement in his dark eyes. 

“It’s not like you being completely fucking gone over this guy is anything new for me. The way you look at him surely has not made my job any easier, that’s for damn sure. But keeping the two of you apart hasn’t worked. You always end up going right back to him no matter what anyone says to you. You both have really bright careers ahead of you, if you play your cards right. You know what that means for you. I can’t stand the guy, but really, Colfer might be the biggest asset we’ve got. No one guards your secrets more carefully than he does.”

Darren’s mouth tightens into a frown at this, his fingers spasm on top of the table. “Don’t bring him into that shit. He isn’t-”

“Of course he is, he is definitely part of it. He always has been.” Darren is cut off sharply, annoyance simmers up in them both, wavering under the sun like the mirage of water on burning concrete. He sits back in his chair while Darren's jaw clenches tight. “If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have to try half as hard to convince people and you know it. You’re going to go on sneaking around with Colfer. Fine, I got it. I don’t know why you think this is a surprise to anyone. Keep your heads down, and for fucks sake, watch what you do and say in front of other people. Nothing anyone does or says is going to get you to back off of the guy, so just be careful about it. You do your job and I’ll do mine, Darren.” He pushes his chair back from the table and stands up with a laugh that couldn’t be any more humorless than it was. “Go home, pack, get everything together for tomorrow. I need you to be ready to go tonight by six, alright? I’ll talk to you later.”

_”Think about what you want.”_

_”I know that, I am.”_

After Ricky leaves, Darren walks back inside the cafe and orders two different desserts to go. He accepts the two small styrofoam containers with a forced smile, and walks back out to his car. His thoughts are a tempest of questions and half-formed ideas. He knows what he wants, how to go about getting it is another matter altogether.

\----

He lets himself inside and calls out for Chris twice, not getting an answer. He assumed he would have still been barricaded inside his office working, but when he walks through the door, Brian is laying alone in the middle of the floor, yellow-green eyes glaring up at him accusingly, for interrupting his afternoon nap.

“Where’s your dad, little man?” He nudges the cat in the side with the toe of his shoe and looks around the room. Chris’ laptop is open, the screen having gone black, and there’s an open soda can on the desk. When Darren touches it, the aluminum is still cool to the touch. He has to be around here somewhere. 

“Christopher! Come out, come out, wherever you ar... Wow, I really _am_ a hypocritical asshole, and now I’m talking to myself. Fuck. Chris!” Darren shakes his head at himself and snorts. He glances back down at the cat. “Don’t you judge me, Fuzzbutt.” He wanders back out of the office, and down into the kitchen. 

Through the window, he finally catches the back view of a familiar tall, lean form standing against the green privacy hedge at the far side of the backyard. Chris has for some reason dragged the patio table all the way across his backyard and is bending over it, messing with something. Darren pulls open the sliding glass door and pauses to appreciate the completely welcomed view of Chris in a tight, black tank top and shorts that hug his hips and ass gloriously. He’s facing away from him, so Darren feels free to shamelessly oogle the other man with a wide grin on his face. His thick hair is standing up in a wilder than usual chaotic sex-hair mess that men pay huge money to try to duplicate. The sun beats down making Chris’ fair skin glow like he is being lit from within, he’s just fucking stunning. It’s a kind of stunning that makes Darren struggle to resist just dropping to his knees and crawling across the cement and grass to reach him.

He realizes that Chris has his iPad propped up against the side of a potted plant, and is trying to angle it just so. He makes minor adjustments, backs a few feet away from the table, and then moves and tilts the tablet a little. Darren watches, bemusedly confused, until he sees Chris’ shoulders tense as he grabs something off the table. Something that looks a whole hell of a lot like the clear, plastic wastepaper basket from Chris’ office, now wrapped in a black t-shirt to keep the sunlight from glaring off the side and ruining the camera shot. Even in his dark sunglasses, he can tell that Chris is glaring down at the container in his hands like it just personally offended him, a heavy scowl on his face.

“You should do it shirtless and give the fangirls a cheap thrill!” Darren takes a couple of steps in his direction.

“If you even _think_ about coming over here, I will castrate you in your sleep with a rusty butter knife, Darren.” Chris’s voice rings out across the space between them, stopping Darren in his tracks. 

He pauses at the edge of the patio. Chris takes a couple of more steps back, keeping his eyes trained on the camera image on the screen. He takes a deep breath and flexes his strong arms and shoulders, his mouth set into an unhappy frown that Darren wants to kiss from his face.

“I’m calling empty threat! You’re too attached to my balls for that.” 

He can hear Chris snort all the way across the yard. “Try me.” 

Chris turns away from him and faces the camera again. Darren sets the two takeout boxes he had brought back from the cafe down in an empty patio chair, and crosses his arms over his chest. He can see Chris’ lips moving, likely mumbling something under his breath that includes a lot of four letter words and curses upon someone’s entire ancestral line. He lifts the basket, says his spiel, and then Darren can’t help but wince himself when Chris dumps the bucket of water over his own head. He gasps and then freezes for a moment at the shock of the cold water against his sun-heated skin. He looks over at where Darren stands literally biting down on his bottom lip to keep from cracking up out loud.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Chris shakes his head like a dog, droplets of water flying from his hair and clothes before he sets the empty container back down on the table. He can’t help but laugh then, giggling loudly as he watches Chris wipe his hands off on a towel, and then pick up his iPad to end the recording and watch the video back. 

He is still chuckling under his breath as he walks over to stand behind Chris, watching over his shoulder. It’s hard to make out the video in the sunlight, and he will have to edit it to cut Darren’s voice out of the beginning and end, but Chris got the footage he was looking for. 

“Ya know, I didn’t see any ice.” He can now smell the chlorine coming off of Chris’ skin and clothes, and he realizes that he had simply scooped up a bucket of water out of the pool. 

Chris pulls his sunglasses off to turn and glare at him. “Uh huh. One: screw you, and two: I am going to kill Grant. Start researching top defense attorneys now. He better hope he can really run fast.” He lays the iPad back down on the table, and starts rubbing at his drenched hair with the towel, pushing it back from where it had gotten matted down to his forehead.

Darren smirks and grabs the towel from him, tossing it into a damp heap onto the grass at their feet. Mindless of Chris’s wet clothes, he wraps his arms around him from behind. Water soaks through his shirt and the front of his jeans as he presses himself up against the hard lines of Chris’ back, rubbing his face across the back of his neck. It is hot as fuck outside, and Chris has sweated while setting up for the video, the water moistened his skin and released heady waves of the smell of his clean sweat, mixing with faint traces of his cologne and shampoo. Darren breathes in deep, the air coming back out of his lungs, along with a throaty hum, as he nuzzles at Chris’ neck, dropping kisses to his favorite two freckles, and rubbing the white skin red. “Hello, friends."

“Are you talking to invisible people again? Should I be concerned?” Chris leans back a little in his arms, relaxing as both Darren’s body heat and the sun, draw the initial chill out of him.

Darren ignores him in favor of licking the back of that long, graceful neck, trying to see if he can steal a taste of the delicious smell that is making heat pool low in his abdomen. 

“Your beard tickles. Cut it out. I need to go shower now.” Chris squirms away from him and bends down to pick up the towel he had dropped, making Darren pout. He looks around and his eyes fall on the patio.

“Let’s warm you up and then we can both go shower.”

Chris snorts without looking up, he is busy gathering up his iPad, sunglasses, and the wastepaper basket he’d used as a makeshift bucket. “We do not have time to have sex. You have to get ready to go out, too. Come on, I’ve got to get all this shit inside. Do me a favor and push the table back where it goes?” 

“Who said anything about sex? Give me that.” He rushes forward and snatches the armful of things out of Chris’ arms, putting it all back on the table. Chris puts his hands on his hips and opens his mouth to protest, when Darren tugs his own shirt off over his head without bothering to unbutton it. “Strip, Colfer.” 

“I just told you that-” Chris stops when Darren reaches out and draws the clingy material of his own soaked tank top up, getting it caught under his arms. He sighs and unwillingly lifts his arms so that it be be pulled free. “Dare, I’m serious. We’re not-”

“I know we’re not.” He grabs Chris’ arm and starts dragging him back across the yard towards the house, leaving the table behind them. Chris unwillingly stumbles after him with a groan. 

“I really dislike you.”

Darren shoves him down into an empty patio chair, and begins working to undress himself. “You're gonna fucking love me in about ten seconds.”

Chris watches him struggle to remove his shoes while standing up and snorts loudly. “Seeing you naked is not some new novelty.”

“Seeing me naked is always a thrill for anyone, but what I was referring to…” Darren trails off as he unbuttons his damp jeans and shoves them down around his knees, leaving his mostly dry boxer briefs on. He kicks the pants off and looks up at Chris with a wink. “But what I was referring to, my sarcastic boy, is the fact that I brought us what is quite possibly the best key lime and salted caramel apple pie in the world. Now stop glaring at me and get your gorgeous ass in the hot tub with me.” 

They recline against the sides on opposite ends of the hot tub trading containers back and forth between them. Chris lost the paper rock scissors game after they got in before realizing they didn’t have anything to eat the pie with, and had to get back out and run inside the kitchen for two forks. The view of him in his now transparent, wet blue briefs is enough to convince Darren that God does, in fact, exist. 

They’ve already lingered in the hot, swirling water for longer than they should. Chris is going to a comedy club that a friend of his is performing at with Ashley, and Darren has to attend a dinner in just over an hour. He will have to really rush through getting ready, but that seems completely fine when he has one of Chris’ long, hard muscled legs propped up in his lap. Chris has his head tipped back against the side of the hot tub, eyes closed, and he is humming something that Darren can’t make out, under his breath. His long, white toes keep curling into the thick thatch of hair beneath his belly button that has grown wild over the course of the summer, pulling and tugging at it. 

“Such a weirdo.” Darren shoves Chris’ foot away, looking up and opening his eyes. Chris keeps his closed, but a wide smile spreads across his face.

“It’s going to be a shame when they wax every inch of you again.” His foot slides up Darren’s leg now, feeling the coarse, thick hair that covers Darren’s shin under his foot.

Darren snorts and catches the foot, and digs both his thumbs into the sensitive arch, making Chris groan happily. “You like me hairy as a fucking Ewok? You have some weird ass kinks, babe.”

Snatching his foot back, Chris finally lifts his head and opens his eyes. They are a brilliant sea green color in the warm late-afternoon glow around them. “You’re one to talk. Do we need to talk about the hotel in New York again? The window?” 

Okay. Point taken.

Something in Chris’ face has gone appraising and contemplative, staring back at him like he is cataloging Darren to recreate in one of his books again. “You’re just more _you_ like this, the real you. You just aren’t meant to be all… orderly and tamed.”

 _You mean like you?_ He doesn’t say it, but he thinks it. “What am I supposed to be, then?”

“Mine.” Chris’ lips pull up at either corner into the tiniest hint of a smile. It gets easier every day for him to admit out loud what they are and what he himself wants. 

The noise he makes is somewhere between being punched in the gut, and a kid who sees a puppy under the tree on Christmas morning. Darren launches himself across the small distance between them, straddling Chris’ lap, and diving into his lips tongue first. He comes up for air with a gasp, holding Chris' face between his hands, bracketing either side of his sharp jaw. "Hair, no hair, here, not here, the real, the fake shit. Nothing could make me not yours. Nothing." 

"I..." Instead of answering, Chris glides his hands up the length of Darren's bare back to grip the shaggy, wet curls at the back of his head. He breathes out a needful sound, when Chris ducks his head low to kiss stray drops of water from his sternum, and works up Darren's chest and throat, back to his waiting mouth. _...know._ Chris knows that.

Now Darren will only have half an hour to get ready to go. It’s entirely worth it.


	52. Breakfast - Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updates, folks. Expect another tomorrow. Chapters should be coming along twice a week from here on out.
> 
> I'm been told I was a little heavy handed with the ass worship here. In fact, Lynne suggested I simply title it "Ass." 
> 
> Lovely Chris manip by [Heukii](http://hekuii.tumblr.com). Thanks, sweetheart!

The thing about writing is it almost always begins as a sincere need for outlet, for creation. The same can be said of any form of art most likely, but this is the frame of reference that Chris has for himself. Writing the first couple of books had been easy, he didn't need any more motivation other than getting the vivid colors and multilayered voices trapped within his mind out and into a form where they could be given lives of their own. He did it then, simply because he _wanted_ to write. But that was before the days of multimillion dollar publishing contracts and due-by date deadlines. It's sad but it's an undeniable fact, you lose a certain amount of joy in your creation when you turn what you love to do, your passions, into a career. 

The man snoring on the pillow beside him would know all about that.

He isn't sure what woke him up initially, but Chris rolled over in bed and saw that it was only a few minutes after four in the morning. The red glowing numbers of his bedside alarm clock were the only easily visible thing in the dark room. He laid on his back, hands folded loosely over his chest for over an hour, watching as the digital clock ticked forward from four, four thirty, five...? It was a pointless effort, once his mind was fully awake, there would be no slipping back into unconsciousness for him.

The sick part about this deadline was that it is self-imposed. Chris has chosen this timetable for himself. It had made sense at the time, separate tasks plotted out to be tackled and accomplished in logical chunks. Pre-planning and research during the first month of his break, the book tour, then buckling down and finishing up the principal writing in plenty of time to begin preparations for the final season of the show. Neat, tidy, concise. But all of those plans were before Chris knew he would spend a summer of London, Lemonhead candies, and love. God, so damn much love. It had derailed his plans in the most amazing way possible.

Guess it's true. Life really is what happens when you are busy making other plans. Thank you, Mr John Lennon.

 _...fuck._ If that doesn't prove he's been spending too much time around Darren, nothing does.

He flicks on the lamp in his office, filling the corner of the room with a soft, gold glow that does nothing to lessen the weight of time pressing in on him. He needs to write, he has to. Only the need is now fueled not by a giddy anticipation of creating his world, but because this is his job now. Well, it's one of them. He hates the feeling of being behind. He powers up his laptop, opens the document, and then... _nothing_. The words just won't come.

Even then, he fights. He tries. Chris has never been one to stop when something seems like it may be a winless battle. If he was, if he were physically capable of easily just giving up when things seem impossible, Darren wouldn't be sound asleep right down the hall. Sometimes his stubborn streak pays off in the end.

He manages to eek out a thousand words that he knows he will likely delete and rewrite later, but at least it's something. He pulls his glasses off, setting them down on top of his desk and leans back in his chair with a soft groan. When the bones in his right shoulder pop, the cracking sound is as loud as cannon fire in the silent house. Twenty four is too young for his body and mind to feel so old.

His eyes land on the white manilla envelope that holds his first script laying untouched and unopened on the edge of the desk. They've both agreed not to read them until they can do it together once Darren returns from this five day trip to New York. Chris has no idea what the future holds for their alter egos, and right now, he honestly doesn't care. It's just one more bridge he is determined not to even worry about crossing, until his toes are brushing the wooden planks of it. Procrastination is another dirty habit he's managed to pick up over the course of these blissful last few months. 

Even with the window blinds shut, he can tell that the sky outside is lightening to an ashy gray color. He will have to go in and wake Darren up in about an hour to make sure he has enough time to get ready and leave for the airport. These small separations seem to be getting easier with each one that passes, and Chris is pretty sure that he knows the reason why. He doesn't doubt now that no matter where either of them go, that they will be coming back. Not in months or weeks, not until they reach a point where they feel lost and untethered, not away until they get horny or drunk or any combination of the two and reach out for the other. No. Now he knows they will just come back, come home. They are each other's home now, maybe they always have been, and it simply took this long to find their way back to the front door. 

Smiling to himself, he slides his glasses back onto his face and Googles for his favorite recipe site.

An hour later his kitchen looks like a tornado blew through it. The countertops are strewn with dirty mixing bowls, banana peels, an open half empty bottle of Jack Daniels, and various splashes of cream and oil. The sink is full and the entire room smells heavily of smoke and burnt food, after his first disastrous attempt that nearly set off the smoke detector. But as Chris looks down at the greasy, sweet, utterly bizarre concoction on the plate in front of him, he feels pretty damn pleased with himself. 

Of course Darren's favorite breakfast would include ridiculous amounts of sugar, whiskey, and looks like nothing short of actual dicks on a plate. Chris snorts and rolls his eyes, wiping his hands off on a damp dish towel. He will have one hell of a cleanup job to do later, but if it makes Darren smile like he is hoping it will, it'll be a fair enough trade. Besides, they do taste kind of amazing.

He climbs back up the stairs and pokes his head back into his bedroom to find that Darren hasn't moved so much as a millimeter since Chris had gotten out of bed a couple of hours ago. He’s still laying sprawled out on his stomach, with one arm stretched out towards the opposite side of the bed where it had previously rested on Chris' chest. Darren always felt the need to have some part of their bodies touching even when they slept, constant physical contact to make up for all the touch he has been denied. The thin, beige cotton sheet lightly draped over his body and soft light streaming in through the window that turns it almost transparent, beckons Chris' eyes to map out the up-down, even breathing slopes and curves of Darren's body beneath the material. He knows he needs to wake him up, they will be pushed for time this morning as it is, but he selfishly drinks this exact image in for a minute. How in the world did he end up being the only person in the world chosen to be the one who sees this? 

As Chris stands hypnotized in the doorway, Brian rubs his body against his ankles and slinks around him into the room, leaping lightly up onto the bed. The cat carefully steps over one of Darren's legs, seemingly also reluctant to wake the sleeping man, finally settling down on top of the sheet into a cozy nook against Darren's hip. His yellow-green eyes blink slowly at where his dad still watches from across the room, quietly wondering why Chris isn't climbing back into the bed for what looks like the most tempting cuddle time imaginable. 

He sighs and eases himself down onto the edge of the mattress, reaching over Darren's body to scratch at Brian's velvet ears. "Sorry, honey. I want him to stay, too, but Darren has to get up and go. I know I'm not quite as good at it, but I'll give you love later, okay?" His voice is a hushed whisper, no louder than the sound of the cat's rumbling purr or Darren's throaty snores. Chris is acutely aware in that moment that this is his family in this bed, this is his whole world, and how the thought of that now fills him with more contentment, than with fear. He moves his hand to pet at the head of his other boy, tugging on the one oversized black curl that always sticks out in the back. "Good morning, lazy ass. Time to rise, shine, and all that crap."

Darren's body shifts beneath the sheet. "Noosihshsnot." 

He presses his face more deeply into the pillow, even as one of his arms flails out behind him, hand blindly grabbing for Chris' to encourage him to keep playing with his hair. It was no hardship, Darren had showered right before going to bed the night before, letting his curls dry into downy soft ringlets that felt like silk slipping between Chris' fingers.

"Come again?" He asks, scratching at the nape of Darren's neck with a chuckle.

Darren sighs and turns his face sideways on the pillow but not opening his eyes. "Not morning, and _if_ it were, then it certainly wouldn't be 'good'." Chris sees the contented smile that plays at the corner of Darren's lips on the side of his face that he is able to see, while he tries to sound sulky and pouty. "Plus my ass is not lazy, thank you very much. It gets a thorough workout on a routine basis." 

"Uh huh." Chris snorts softly and scratches his nails up and down the other man's back, tracing the line of his spine in a way that makes Darren arch beneath him like a cat. "Nice try, but I know for a fact that you have not set foot into a gym or even on a treadmill all summer." 

Not that he needed to. Darren's body was the perfect mix of tight-packed compact muscle with soft curves that just begged to be grabbed and kneaded or bitten. That little tiny waist, chiseled abdominal V line, his toned arms, and yes, the most grabbable ass on the face of the planet, the man had a body that makes men, women, and even a celibate monk, stare. Chris isn't too proud to admit (to himself at least) that it drives him insane, and leaves him feeling slightly dizzy when he thinks about the fact that he is the _only_ one allowed to touch. So he does. Chris pulls the sheet lower to expose the upper part of Darren's perfectly round ass, the soft skin naturally just half a shade lighter than the creamy tan of his back and shoulders, sparsely covered in a dusting of black hair along the cleft and the bottom curve down to his thick thighs. 

Chris' personal experience with other men had been not nonexistent, but limited to a handful of awkward and rushed encounters before he and Darren first began sleeping together. His was the very first body Chris had ever felt comfortable enough to truly explore and appreciate as a lover. And though many things have changed since those breathless, heart pounding first touches, one thing sure has not. Darren has the most incredible posterior he has ever seen, single handedly (single assedly?) turning him into a full fledged ass man, and effectively ruining Chris for all other future men in that regard. Luckily for him, he has no interest in anyone else, because he is 100% confident that no one else could ever measure up. 

He doesn't even realize he is chuckling out loud as he firmly thumbs at the deep dimples along either side of the base of Darren's spine, when Darren turns and gives him a questioning look over his shoulder.

"Are you just enjoying the view, Colfer, or am I due for another workout?" Deep creases form around his honey gold eyes as he grins, folding his arms on the mattress and pillowing his head on them with a contented sound, while he re-settles himself comfortably, more than willing to surrender himself to Chris' strong hands and whims. "Because right now you have that look that you get when you are thinking about doing a thing, and let the record state that I, for one, am completely on board with that."

Chris laughs, shaking himself out of the gravitational pull that is Darren's ass, and leaning up to kiss his bearded cheek instead. "Shut up. Come on, get up. I have a surprise for you." He sits back and allows Darren to finally turn over onto his back with a groan. If the way the thin sheet is now tenting obscenely over his midsection is any indication, Chris isn't the only one who was enjoying the morning attention. It's nearly enough to make him forget all about the time and effort he put into the special breakfast waiting in the microwave downstairs. He had briefly considered trying to be cute and bringing the food up with him to present Darren with breakfast in bed. But, when he thought about the idea of sticky-sweet sauces and whipped cream in his own bed, he wasn't sure he necessarily liked the idea anymore.

"Yeah?" Darren's smile is still a little drowsy, he squints against the full brunt of the morning sunlight, his hair is a frizzy mess, and there is sleep crust visible in the corners of his eyes. He's so much more beautiful now than he would ever be decked out in $8,000 suits, in front of a camera, or on a stage. 

"Yeah." Chris confirms leaning forward and smashing his own smile against Darren's lips. He scoops Brian up and then climbs off of the bed. "I'll go heat it back up. And brush your teeth, Dare. Your breath smells like feet."

Darren watches as Chris sets the cat down and grabs a fresh change of clothes out of his dresser, licks his lips with a quizzical look on his face. "Is there a reason you taste like booze and bananas at seven in the morning?" Darren finally swings his legs over the side of the bed, scratching at his naked stomach and still seemingly confused over the strange taste he'd gotten the faintest trace of on Chris' breath.

Pulling on a loose pair of yoga pants and a light button down, Chris smirks at Darren's reflection in the mirror as he finger combs his own hair. He pointedly does not let himself look at anything below Darren's shoulders, now that he has lost the minimal amount of cover that the bedsheet provided. "Clothes. Teeth. Downstairs."

Darren stands and gives Chris a stiff military style salute, before walking naked past him to the bathroom.

The excited look on Darren's face when Chris sets the plate in front of him with a proud "Ta da!" is absolutely worth the ten minutes of internet recipe searching, a minor burn on his hand from popping oil, and the complete war zone that is now his kitchen. Deep fried bananas cooked in a whiskey and butter sauce complete with whipped cream and chocolate syrup. It was probably one of the most ridiculous things Chris has ever attempted to make, but after looking for a simple recipe for fried bananas and seeing the word whiskey on the website, he had to give it a shot. It's more of a dessert than a breakfast, but he has to admit, they are pretty amazing. Darren takes all of Chris' jokes about his phallic food oral fixation in stride, moaning around every bite like he had something more substantial in his mouth than a piece of fruit. The noises are so... reminiscent of others he makes, that Chris has to get up out of his seat to keep from launching himself across the table, thrusting his hands into Darren's messy morning hair, yanking his head backwards, and attacking those red sugar and syrup sticky lips until they plump up and swell between Chris' teeth.

God, he'd look so fucking pretty there on stage in New York tomorrow night with his mouth swollen and maybe little bruises just underneath his jaw, the shape of Chris' lips marked into his skin. No matter where he had to be, or standing beside who...

Chris' chair makes a grinding screechy sound across the hardwood floor as he shoves back from the table and turns and begins rinsing things before he can load them into the dishwasher. His entire being is focused on furiously scrubbing away at the mixing bowl he used to make the flour, milk, and egg batter for the bananas. 

_Stop it. Stop, just stopstopstop._ Those thoughts are dangerous. They're pointless and would lead to nowhere good. They can never afford to be possessive that way. He knows that, he's accepted it... almost.

He never hears Darren moving up behind him until arms snake around his waist, pulling hard and forcing him back against a broad, bare chest. The bowl slips from his fingers, splashing soapy dishwater onto the countertop and the floor. He tries to keep his posture straight, stiff, but his body relaxes against his mind's consent at the feeling of his lover behind him and the warmth of Darren's breath on his skin, as he presses his nose into the tender skin behind the shell of Chris' ear.

"Thank you, Chris. That was... amazing." 

Chris isn't Darren. He isn't inclined to romantic gestures and vulnerable words. It's not that he doesn't feel them, but it simply isn't who he is. It has always been that way, Darren pushes, Darren gives, Darren standing on his head and slicing open his fingertip to write the way he feels in his own blood for Chris to see. He isn't blind to the imbalance, and he knows that Darren doesn't care, he doesn't expect. As long as he gets to have Chris, he feels like he's already won the world. So when Chris tries, when he gestures, reaches out, breakfast isn't breakfast. Breakfast becomes every-fucking-thing.

He kisses the back of Chris' ear softly, and then he just holds him. Neither of them speak, just enjoying these last few moments that they will have together before one of them is gone again.

They both know that there will be increasing numbers of gone days as the next several weeks progress. The scales will soon tip and they will be back to having more days when they _don't_ get to see one another, than when they do. The time has come to wear their masks and pay the Piper for the time they've had, for London, Lemonheads, and love. 

They will go and do what they have to do to protect this, fried banana breakfasts, and lazy Sundays, and bodies that fit together like this. Chris to meet his deadlines and Darren will smile for the cameras, because that's what they do. Some days will be easy and some will feel like hell, it's always been that way, but at least there's a reason for it all now. Now, every typed word, every smile faked and half truth told, it's for each other. It's all for the sake of being able to come back home.

Chris glances at the open bottle of Jack still sitting on the counter. He moves out of the circle of Darren's arms long enough to grab two mismatched coffee cups down out of the cabinet. He pours a shot's worth into the bottom of each of the mugs, and hands one to Darren. The other man's eyebrows scrunch together in slight confusion, but something in the way Chris' eyes burn into his, determined and the color of choppy gray ocean waters before a storm hits, stops him from speaking or questioning. Chris raises his own coffee cup up until Darren catches on, and they hit them together with a quiet ceramic clink. He knocks back the shot of straight whiskey, wincing at the burn of it scalding the back of his throat. Darren does the same coughing and sputtering with a hoarse "Jesus fuck."

He doesn't ask Chris why, he doesn't have to understand everything. Darren's always been that way. Chris sets both of the empty coffee mugs down on the cluttered countertop, and just leaves them there. What's two more dirty dishes in the middle of that mess, anyway? He laces the fingers of both of their hands together, and breathes, he waits. It takes less than three seconds for Darren to read the request in his eyes, and then that full, seeking mouth crashes into his, kissing Chris hard until the edges of the room begin to blur.

Why should you use words to say "I love you" when it's already in every single thing that you do?

Darren goes back upstairs to shower and get ready to leave for the airport. Chris scowls and looks around the absolute wreck he's made of his kitchen. Would it be a completely dickhead move to call someone else to come in and clean up all this shit? No, no he wouldn't, he couldn't do that. But the mere fact that the idea flashes through his mind causes him to grin and he shakes his head at himself. He can never tell Darren, he would enjoy it far too much.

He leaves the mess for now, and settles back down onto the couch to try to pick up where he left off earlier that morning. The words still aren't being his friends. He can hear Darren moving around upstairs and forces himself not to mentally track his movements across the floor.

His eyes remain locked on the glowing screen of his laptop, not glancing up, when he hears the sound of heavy footsteps thud back down the stairs. It is yet another internal war that he wages within himself, forcing his focus to remain on the words on the screen, and nowhere else. Chris has never liked to actually _watch_ him leave.

The footsteps draw closer, he can hear the rattle of the plastic wheels on Darren's suitcase as it hits the floor. He types in a three line string of "fffffffff's" that he will end up having to highlight and delete from the Word document once Darren is gone.

A warm hand comes down and presses firmly on the crown of his head, forcing it to tip back against the back of the couch. He blinks up at the upside down image of Darren's amused smirk through his glasses. 

"I'll call you once I get settled at the hotel. Don't stressy yourself into a corner while I'm gone, alright?" Darren's tone is teasing, but his eyes are less so. His worry is genuine.

Chris thrusts his head to the side to try and knock free the hand still holding the top of it back. "In what language is 'stressy yourself' even remotely grammatically correct?" He watches as upside down Darren shrugs one shoulder and snorts a quiet laugh. One thumb traces down Chris' sideburn and across the side of his jaw, before slipping off the tip of his chin.

"Serious. I have my spies watching you, I'll hear about it if you don't take good care of yourself." He bends and places an awkwardly angled kiss diagonally across Chris' upper lip and the underside of his nose. It's as much of a goodbye as either of them seem willing to stomach.

"Go. Before I decide to make you clean up in there, Banana Breath." He hears one more squeak of a laugh, and then footsteps again. He can't help but look up away from his computer when he hears the unmistakable sound of an iPhone camera's fake electronic shutter sound.

Darren's standing in the doorway, smirking at Chris over the top of his phone. He scowls deeply. "I haven't even showered or shaved, I smell like grease and liquor, and I'm in pajama pants, you ass." 

"I know. You're fucking perfect." Darren grabs the handle of his suitcase and turns for the door, ignoring the throw pillow that Chris hurls at the back of his head. It hits the far wall of the foyer, and neither bother to pick it up as Darren leaves. 

\----

\----


	53. Crash - Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another chapter. Darren's POV this time.
> 
> Beta quote: "Your new name is Metaphor Shithead."

Disneyland is a fucking awesome place. It's all magic and excitement, and larger than life and color. It's every kid's wildest fantasies come true. But just imagine taking a kid to Disneyland, dressing him up in the souvenir t-shirt, Mickey ears, the whole nine, walking him right to the the entrance gates, and telling him he can't go inside. Nope, sorry, kid. You need to smile, look happy, pose for the camera. Say cheese!

Wait, why are you getting pissed off, kid? This is Disneyland! You're at the happiest goddamn place on Earth!

After having been in New York for five days, being shuttled around from event to meeting to party to another event to another meeting... He is tired. He is tired and a little hungover, and Darren just wants to go home. 

He's already in trouble for taking off without permission to go to the bar last night. He's sure Twitter is buzzing away. He and a few friends singing show tunes and getting full-on plastered at a piano bar. A gay piano bar. But it was his last night in the city. And hey, they want him to make nice with the Broadway crowd, right? He doesn't remember a whole lot of what happened, or what he may have said or to whom, but he's pretty sure he had a lot of fun.

The whole flight back to Los Angeles all he can think about is how great it will be to just get home. But going back to L.A. doesn't mean he gets to go home.

Chris is home. Chris is Darren's fucking Disneyland. 

He gets to go back to L.A., but he's still on the clock, he's still working. As soon as his flight lands, he won't even get time to drop by his own house (not that that's where he would want to go, anyway.) No, as soon as they land, he has to be whisked off to get ready for this big award show tonight. Someone else has picked out what he'll wear, where he'll sit, what questions he'll answer, even who he will walk in with. It's all part of the job. Darren is usually pretty good with handling it, but it irks him knowing that he will be back in the same city and won't even get to see Chris for another day. Yeah, it's a cool event, lots of amazing musical performers and people he'd like to meet. He's set to walk the red carpet and he knows it's going to be a big deal, this is one of the biggest events he will do all year. It's the kind of publicity and exposure his team has been dreaming of for him. A huge MTV event, an opportunity to get his name out there outside of the show, amongst people in the music industry. In a year from now this is exactly where they all want him to be... But it isn't what _Darren_ wants right now at all.

Sure, they've talked. Texts, and their usual late night phone calls, all except last night when he'd been too drunk to even see straight. But none of that is any substitution for seeing Chris and breathing him in and feeling like he knows who he is, and what he's doing again. When Darren tried to call before leaving for the airport that morning, he hadn't picked up. Now knowing that Chris is just a few miles away, but he can't go see him because at the moment, a team of stylists is meticulously making him look just the right kind of carefully casual, it's maddening. His manager stands against the wall hissing shit Darren couldn't care less about into the phone, and he briefly wonders just how far he'd get if he just bolted out of the chair and made a run for it.

He doesn't do that, of course. No, Darren lets them finish styling his hair, shaping up his beard, and then slips into a jacket that he knows is going to make him sweat like a fucking pig while he poses for the photographers outside under the late August So Cal sun.

They meet his friend at the prearranged spot, both getting last minute instructions from his manager on how to make an entrance, as if they aren't pros at this by now. She mockingly rolls her eyes behind the guy's back and he laughs out loud without bothering to act like he isn't being a dick about it. When she tells him that underneath all the under-eye concealer they've smeared onto his face, he looks like shit, he doesn't disagree. He blames the hangover, but everyone here knows it's more like withdrawal symptoms. 

The plan is for them to make their entrance, get from the limo drop-off for the initial photo op, then he is supposed to walk the carpet alone. That had been a sticking point for him; a condition of agreeing to do this. They all have separate seating for inside the show itself, and then meet back at the lobby to make their exit and head to the predetermined after-party. Sometimes it was like being twelve years old and constantly having to check in with a chaperone, but that was just how this shit works.

He gives absolutely no attention to the conversation going on around him in the limo on the way to the Forum, pulling out his phone to send a text.

**On my way to the venue, really wish I was at home with you instead.**

He holds the phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline, it's been not quite twenty four hours but he isn't used to going this long without Chris. It makes him anxious and his knee starts shaking up and down in the back of the car. His fingers sweat and leave smudge marks on the phone's dark screen, and he presses the button just to make it light back up so that he won't see them. Traffic is the nightmare they'd anticipated for it to be, and he sighs and stares out the window at the dinginess of the west Hollywood streets. His friend has been eyeing him curiously for the entire ride.

"You don't get nervous before this sort of thing. What's up with you?"

_Oh nothing, just hating this part of the life that I know that I am incredibly lucky to have, and can't really complain about, without seeming like a total asshole, because I chose this for myself, I agreed. And I haven't seen my... my **Chris** , whatever the hell he is, in a few days, and I don't care if it makes me sound like a pathetic, heartsick, twelve year old girl. I miss the fuck out of him, and no offense, but you two are just so not who I want to be with right now. So yeah, not in the greatest mood at the moment._

There was a time when maybe he could have told her that, when their friendship was something warmer and more open than it is now, but time and the strain of the unbe-fucking-lievably complicated situation they were in has taken a toll on that relationship. Darren isn't sure that he would even know how to go about beginning to fix that, not that he currently has the emotional energy to try. She may not be the same straight out of college, up for anything, big dreaming girl she had been five years ago, but he wasn't the same guy he'd been back then, either. People grow up and grow apart, and that's normal enough, but nothing about the other factors that have made things so tenuous between him and her, could be considered in any way normal. Their once-easy friendship may be yet another casualty of the twisted world he lives in. He will always be grateful for what she long ago agreed to do to help him, not that she hasn't been well compensated for her part. None of this is her fault, or his for that matter, but this business breeds bitterness and resentment, and they are both human, and sometimes guilty of letting it affect them. 

Darren's mouth twitches spastically, and he rolls his neck on his shoulders before giving her a tight-lipped, combined smile and grimace. "Crazy night last night, and I haven't gotten any sleep. I am going to be fucking dead by the end of the night."

"I've got some Tylenol or something in my purse if you need it?" She is already opening up her bag and beginning to dig through it, before he can shake his head and decline.

"No, I'm good. Thanks, though." 

She smiles at him as she takes out a small compact mirror and reapplies her already impeccable red lipstick. Thank fuck men didn't have to wear that shit, Darren would always be a hopeless, hot mess. Well, more so than he already is. They make small talk about some of the artists performing at the event, her band, mutual friends, all light safe topics that only take up around three of four percent of Darren's focus and concentration, the rest of it still monopolized by the silent cell phone still held in his hand. 

His manager is turned around towards the poor driver, firing off instructions on exactly where to pull in and enter the line of limos and luxury cars waiting to drop people off outside the red carpet staging area, when his phone finally vibrates in his hand.

It is as close to "I miss you, too" as Darren was likely ever going to get. Instead of pacifying him though, it only makes the desire to see the other man all the more intense. He doesn't consciously realize that he is tracing the tiny letters of the messages on the screen of the phone, until they are climbing out of the car and preparing for the first round of the many photos Darren will pose for tonight. She is straightening the bottom hem of her dress and looks up to see him still engrossed in his phone.

"How is he these days?" There is no use in pretending that they don't both know precisely who she means.

He shrugs, shoving his phone into the pocket of his pants and sliding his dark designer sunglasses back onto his face. They're a far cry from the six dollar drugstore ones he'd once been so known for. "He's good. I mean he's busy, trying to finish another book before the end of the summer, and I think he pushes himself too hard. But no, yeah, I mean, he's good." His ramblings are as awkward as his posture as they stand next to the car, waiting on their cue to approach the entrance. She and Chris have always had a certain level of prickly coolness to any interactions they have ever had, occurrences that Darren has quietly but intentionally tried to keep to a minimum over the years. He tells himself it isn't anything personal, Chris is like that with a lot of people. It's an intentionally told lie that sounds weak even to himself. They get the word to start making their way across the lot. "I'll tell him you said hi." That's just what you were supposed to say in such a situation, right?

He is looking forward at the huge crowd of people they move ever closer to, instead of his friend who walks next to him. Still he hears her quiet snort of a laugh. "He hates me. It's cool, I get it."

He closes his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses and takes a slow breath. "He doesn't hate you. He's just... He isn't comfortable around a lot of people that he doesn't know well, and-"

"Darren, don't shit me." There's no bite or judgment in her voice, more light traces of amusement than anything else. "He has always hated anything that he feels kept you any further away from him than you already were, whether you were actually together or not. I don't think he even realizes he's doing it, it's just a thing. Loves you." 

The conversation ends there, they're too close to other people to speak as themselves at this point. Darren turns on his smile and slips into this other skin as easily as he’d slipped into his printed jacket. It's show time.

The show is amazing. He spends more time on his feet dancing and singing along than he does sitting in his pre-assigned seat. Music brings him a kind of joy that can't be replicated by anything else that he knows of. He wants to share everything he sees, feels, _hears_. Share it with Chris, his friends, with the whole damn world. His phone is back in his hand, reaching out to share the energy all around him in the only way he knows how, through an endless stream of texts and his long-neglected Twitter. He mingles with the kind of people he honestly admires; musicians, songwriters, dynamic performers. He's always known that music is what he wants to dedicate his life to. It's his passion and interlaced into his blood and bones in a way that he can feel zinging through his body when surrounded with this kind of energy. 

He's happy, he's excited, he's just a little tipsy, and that is a combination that leads him to a certain brand of recklessness. The night is relatively young, by L.A. standards, that is. There is still music playing on inside his head, the muscles in his body still want to dance. He feels good, and there is only one thing that turns good into something more, turns a night that feels good, into out of this world, spectacular, beyond all words, fan-fucking-tastic perfection.

He knows that there is a plan. They have plans for him to show up to a star-studded after-party at a downtown nightclub for drinks, and dancing, and above all, another all important photo op. But a party is a party, right? 

Finding the address of where the huge pre-Emmy party is being held across town, takes no more than an eight second search on his phone. Part of his mind, the completely sober part, absently wonders how unsafe this is, that it's just that damn easy for anyone to find that kind of information. The majority of him however, the parts of him that still feel the thrum of the music in his veins, and the undeniable pull of just what he knows is currently _at_ that party, is just happy as fuck, and his legs begin to move. 

In such a huge crush of people, most of whom are, for once, far more recognizable and important than himself, it isn't all that hard to slip unnoticed out of a service exit and hail a cab. Many times in his life Darren has been accused of possessing a one track mind, and right now it is on a direct track to see Chris' face. When minutes seem like hours, and the hours seem like days, tomorrow just isn't good enough. He wants to see him, needs to see him. Now.

He is so focused on the thought of shocked, blue-green eyes, the champagne tinged taste of kissing those softer than silk lips, and feeling the hard lines of that body in his arms for the first time in days, it isn't until he has paid the cab driver and stepped out onto the sidewalk, that he pauses to consider that he hasn't exactly been invited to the party. 

He'd asked to be dropped off a few blocks away from where the massive event is being held. This isn't some college frat party that you can just crash and then claim to be someone's cousin Louie visiting from out of town, if you get busted. Not that he'd ever done such a thing himself...

No, this is a prestigious industry event honoring Hollywood royalty, with more security than the White House, and a pre-approved guest list. A list that Darren was most certainly not on. If Chris was slated to be there, Darren couldn't be, or vice versa.This was part of how things worked, they were almost never scheduled to attend the same events, to be in the same place at the same time. Darren knew that going to such extremes probably drew even more attention down upon them than if they were to just be allowed to interact casually, but nothing about him and Chris has ever been what you would call casual. They stood too close, looked too long, smiled too much, and this had just become one of the many measures taken in the name of cover up, detract, deflect. It sucked, but it was something he has learned to live with. Considering everything else that has made it hard for the two of them to be... _the two of them_ , being invited to separate parties and events wasn’t one of Darren's bigger concerns. Until right now. 

He approaches the party on foot, the lights, music and sounds are apparent from a long distance away in the heavy late-summer night air. Disjointed fragments of thoughts and ideas swim around inside his head. He hasn't climbed a fence in years, and he may be wearing $900 pants, but it doesn't look _that_ high. Or he is already wearing black on black, he could ditch the jacket, offer one of the kids working as a waiter a hundred bucks for their shirt. The one idea that he does not consider, however, is just calling Chris and asking him to come outside. He has the idea of how he wants this to go, the shocked look on his face, and he is stubbornly unwilling to let that go. 

He is standing near the eight-ish foot tall fence, one hand wrapped around one of the iron bars, staring up at the fence, his face appraising and determined, when he hears his name called from behind him.

"Uh, Darren?"

He turns around and sees two older men standing on the sidewalk a few feet away. A wide grin slides onto Darren's face, causing him to scramble from the shadows and out of the bushes where he had been standing, half-seriously considering the fence. "Hey, man!" He greets his friend with a fond hug, followed by a reintroduction and a handshake for the man's husband. He hasn't seen either of them in what feels like forever.

As the three of them chat comfortably and catch up, the tall, blue-eyed man laughs and looks down at the leaves now stuck to the bottom of Darren's black slacks. "Do I even want to ask what in the Hell you were doing?"

He purses his lips as potential responses flicker through his mind like a film reel on an old fashioned movie projector. Everything from _"communing with nature"_ to _"taking a leak"_ and _"channeling my inner James Bond while humming Skyfall under my breath"_ , but what comes out in the end is rather anticlimactic.

"You know, just checking out the party." _Yes, the blank side wall of the building had provided an utterly fascinating vantage point._

"Uh huh." Even without the scoff of a laugh, the look on his friend's face would have easily communicated that he knew Darren was totally full of shit, but as he wraps one long arm around his husband's waist and looks toward the entrance where well dressed people were still streaming in, he lets the issue go.

Darren couldn't help but feel a sharp pang, something akin to an electric shock in the center of his chest as he silently watches them. 

_When... Would... Could... Even possible...?_

His eyes, dark coffee brown in the party lights being cast from the other side of the fence, cloud and go far away, years away, for a moment. He can't deny it’s a train of thought he's ridden before.

"And did it pass your approval? Are you going in, or is this crowd not cool enough for you young'uns?" His friend's laughing voice pulls him back from the mental edge, smirking down at Darren. Tall people fucking suck.

He shoves him with a grin. "Dude, come on, you're like thirty-five!"

"Thirty-six." His husband corrects with an almost sickeningly fond smile, taking the other man's hand and tangling their fingers between them. The action is so tender that it makes Darren almost feel intrusive like he should look away. "Come inside with us."

His friend grabs the sleeve of Darren's jacket and begins to pull him along with them without another word. "Yes, before you start talking to the trees again, and I look nuts by association. I can't believe you're here all by yourself, anyway." He comments looking over at Darren as they step up to be quickly wanded over by the security guards stationed at the party's entrance. "Don't you usually need a babysitter if you're going to be out after dark?" The joke doesn't bristle in the way that it would, if it was someone else who wasn't intimately all too familiar with the multiple layers of crazy that make up Darren's life. There is a sincere understanding in those light eyes that very few people's eyes could hold. 

"Jailbreak." Darren simply shrugs his shoulder and steps forward, admitted into the party without question or a second glance. Huh, or it could've just been _that_ easy, after all.

He steps away and into the throng to grab himself a drink, his eyes scanning the sea of faces for the only one he’s aching to see. There must be over a few thousand people, the party encompassing both the inside of the large building and the sweeping lawn outside. Tents are set up, several bars, indoor and a smaller outdoor stage where people enjoy drinks, music and the heavy, humid August night. He orders two drinks from the bar, one Jack and cola, and a vodka with cranberry juice. He carries both drinks inside, walking the perimeter of the room, by all accounts going completely unnoticed, until he finds what he is looking for. He ducks into the small bathroom and pulls out his phone.

**How's the party, occhi azzurri?**

He sets the drinks on the marble counter beside the sinks, hoists himself up to sit between the glasses, and waits. His phone buzzes with a reply less than a minute later.

**It's good so far, Ashley just hit on a guy old enough to be her own grandfather. That was fairly amusing. Yours?**

He chuckles to himself, letting his fingers fly over the touchscreen.

**Eh, I dunno, Babe. Seems like kind of a snoozefest to me. Then again, that might just be my impression from the men's room off the right side hall.**

He fully expects their messages to continue for at least another couple of rounds, ready to receive a "what?" or an "are you drunk?" back in response, his phone still held loosely in his hand. When the bathroom door flies open less than forty seconds later, Darren mentally prepares himself for having to explain to some stranger why he is hiding out in the bathroom at one of the biggest parties of the year. The excuse dies on his lips when he turns his head to see an absolute angel come barreling into the room.

In the bright overhead lights, Chris' face looks every bit as surprised as he'd imagined and he grins, inwardly patting himself on the back as he hops down off the counter.

"What in the hell a-"

He cuts Chris' predictable question off by pressing his grinning lips against the side of his. He kisses his top lip, the bottom, and then holds it there, smiling around the soft, wet flesh when Chris breathes out hard through his nose making his nostrils flare.

"Dare-"

"Nuh uh, kiss me now. Bitch at me after."

It seems to be all the invitation Chris needs, one of his hands coming up to hold the back of Darren's skull in his hand, and the other gripping tightly to his waist. Darren involuntarily lets out a low, needy sound when Chris immediately shoves his tongue between his lips, the hot, wet muscle lapping at Darren's own and sweeping through the cavern of his mouth until he sways a little on his feet. Only when Chris pulls away with an amused, impish little smirk, does he realize that he had kind of forgotten to breathe.

"You mean like that?" The smug question was slightly ruined by the way Chris' own chest rose and fell heavily, and his eyes moved back to Darren's lips.

"Not quite." He grabs Chris' strong upper arms through the thick material of his jacket, and pushes him backwards until he collides against the door of one of the toilet stalls, making it rattle loudly. Chris' eyes flash up to his, glittering cobalt blue onto burning smokey gold, the brightest splashes of color in the drab generic bathroom, possibly in the entire world. And he lets the next kiss make up for every frustrated thought, sleepless nighttime hour, fabricated photo op, annoyance, ridiculous expectation, lonely minute, and impotent flash of anger built up in the past five days. He kisses him and kisses him, and it all melts away into nothing, and _they_ are all that's left.

Chris' eyes look a little dazed, blown blue-black by the time Darren pulls away and burrows his face into the other man's neck. "Now," he rasps, voice rough like a chain smoker's. "Now you can bitch at me."

He feels Chris' shoulder shake when he laughs, one hand comes up to grab at the front of Darren's flashy jacket, keeping him close. "You're an idiot." The words are soft edged and sound like every ounce of the endearment Darren knows them to be.

They lean together against the inside of the swinging door, nursing their watered down drinks, ready to spring apart if anyone tries to shove their way through. Chris pulling a single brown, dead leaf off of the ass of Darren's pants with a raised eyebrow.

"Long fucking story." 

He promises that he'll tell Chris all about it, if they can just leave. All he wants in the world is to be done with fake people and fake days. He wants to go home where there's nothing but soft cotton sheets, and flushed sweat-sticky fair skin, and Discovery channel on the TV with the volume turned down so low it's nothing but flickering lights and white noise to fall asleep to. 

Chris wants, the rare openness in his eyes and the way his high forehead creases and his hands clench in Darren's black t-shirt, tells him how much he wants to just walk out of this bathroom and go home together.

"I'm here with a date. I can't just take off, Darren." His face and eyes are both full of apologies.

Darren snorts loudly. "Ashley doesn't count. Besides, I am so much prettier to look at than she is."

Chris doesn't argue with the second part, but he does with the first. 

They leave the bathroom two minutes apart, red-lipped and messy haired, to return to the party. "Mingling" lasts ten minutes before Darren receives a text asking him to come help Chris with something. Something turns out to be an itch in the very center of his upper back that he can't reach. He'll never refuse an opportunity to rub his hands up the silky smooth planes of Chris' slightly sweaty back underneath his shirt, letting his hands absorb the feeling of that milky, freckled skin underneath his palms.

Thirty seven minutes after that, Chris' cell phone rings. It seems Darren has lost his phone in the men's room and needs help finding it. _Yes_ , the one he is calling from right that very moment. Chris just goes with it. Someone has taped together two party programs and scrawled the words 'Out of order' in a familiar slanted handwriting, affixing it to the wooden door with what looks suspiciously like green spearmint chewing gum.

They spend most of the night seated side by side on the cold marble countertop, trading kisses, stories about their weeks, and bites of hors d'oeuvres piled high onto a single plate. It's the most conspicuous they have been in a long time, but neither of them stop and think about it long enough to care.

It's the best party Darren's ever crashed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Occhi azzurri" means "Blue eyes" in Italian.


	54. Interim - Chris and Darren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi dreamers. I know the wait has been long, and I am so sorry for that. But so many of you wrote me the kindest messages wanting to know where these two ended up, that I couldn’t not give this story a little resolution. Please keep in mind that Shifting Dreams started out for me as nothing more than five short Crisscolfer drabbles that I wrote to try and ease myself back into the world of fan fiction. It was never intended to be a full account of their lives, more glimpses of it a day at a time. I could have never dreamed that this tale would reach the lengths and the audience that it did, but I am forever grateful for both.

**“There are dark shadows on the earth, but its lights are stronger in the contrast.” -Charles Dickens**

 

Some days are good and others are not. Weeks and months pass in the kind of comfortable haze that comes from finding a secure corner for yourself in a life where not many things feel permanent, and even fewer can be called genuine. And that is what they are, the selfishly held, fiercely guarded sliver of their lives that they take and hide under like a blanket when the rest of the outside world seems too much.

There are long days spent on set when the fabric of Chris’ temper becomes frayed at the edges, and he could unravel completely with one wrong word or step. People tread lightly when his fuse is lit. But there are more days where lunches are taken quietly in a trailer, wardrobe pieces taken off and hung carefully over the back of a chair, turkey club sandwiches and craft service brownies torn in half.

There are nights when Darren drinks too much and talks too loud, letting the demons of his secrets drive him to become the man he has resented for so long when he looks into the mirror. When he stares at the circles under his eyes as they glue down his hair and try to cover the previous night underneath a thick layer of stage makeup. But the number of those nights is far eclipsed by the ones where Chris has to rabbit kick him in the hip because Darren has started to snore on the couch only twenty minutes into the movie. Again.

Some of their broader acquaintances find out and are shocked by the truth, but most don’t bat an eyelash. It seems they are the worst kept secret in town.

Bi-coastal holidays spent with their individual families cut short so that a few days can be spent basking in what they’ve built together. A road-tripping New Year’s spent in a no name hotel with a bottle of cheap bourbon from a liquor store down the street in a city neither of them had ever had any desire to so much as visit until they ended up there.

New _“You have to do this! This is a once in a lifetime chance and you can’t let them stand in your way.”_ opportunities. Old _“I’m so fucking sick of this! What part of my friend does not compute in that thick skull of yours?”_ jealousies. And a favorite once-black-now-almost-gray hooded sweatshirt passed constantly back and forth. 

There are fights and failures, both separately and together, but they don’t come without a hand held out to pull the other back up onto their feet. It’s working. For the first time in all the years they have spun around each other, crashing, colliding and then repelling back apart, they are _working_. 

The majority of these days are so touched with light and gold around the edges that they seem to almost glow, gilded in a way that makes even the icy days of January feel like indian summer. It’s foolish, but so are they most of the time, and so they go ahead let their minds believe these days are actually eternal, limitless and without a number stamped across the back. 

It may not feel like it at the time, but in the end it amounts to just a handful of days that only _feel_ like they have no end. 

Until they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't panic! One left to go...


	55. Door - Darren and Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the end, darlings. Which isn’t actually an end at all. Who knows where these beautiful boys will end up or what they may do in the future that could cause this dream to go on and keep changing and growing. I for one can’t wait. 
> 
> Biggest thanks to all the amazing people who helped this story along the way: [Lynne](http://www.stopandimaginelove.tumblr.com) and [Zinnia](http://www.innocentzinnia.tumblr.com) for the hours of correcting my commas and tenses, [Suzy](http://www.heukii.tumblr.com) for making things look beautiful, and [Mandy](http://www.alittledizzy.tumblr.com) for the advice and the blanket fort. But also to you, reader. I hope you’ve enjoyed this ride and will join me for the next. -[Desi](http://www.kbvibes.tumblr.com)

If the old cliche that a person’s life can change in a minute is true, then in the past few months must mean his entire _existence_ has been reformed into something different. He won’t say _he_ is anything new or changed really, but this path that his life is now on is one that the man of a few short months ago wouldn’t have had a clue to think up. And with all this newness and change around him everywhere he looks, it isn't much of a surprise that his brain is being a total fucking traitor and can’t seem to let him think past what lays behind.

It’s somehow fitting that he is stuck still, feet refusing to move, plastic bag of now-only-warm takeout in his hand, in the exact spot he is standing in. The majority of the ways that his world is now altered began with this same dumb schmuck walking up to this very door. He hadn’t much much of a clue what he wanted to say or do then either. 

_Huh._ Maybe things weren’t that different after all. 

Change is good, life moves forward, and all that other shit that people say? He believes that, he’s been luckier than most people would ever hope to be, so he kind of has to believe it. But there is a catch. Isn’t there always a catch? 

Life only has room for so much, and some things have to be left behind to move onto something or some place that’s new. The one thing he knows for sure, is that he isn’t ready for what lies on the other side of this thick slab of wood and glass to be one of those.

Life has been passing by in such bright flashes of light and sound and touch that he seems to have missed a lot of it passing him by. What had just three months ago seemed like he would have plenty of time to settle and ready himself for, is just gone now. Time is almost up and he doesn’t know how to work his mind around that. His mental defense mechanisms have bitten him squarely in the ass as per usual, and not wanting to face certain things means that he just hasn't. And now these few remaining days seem so vital that he feels a dull sense of panic inside, and it leaves him scrambling to hold on tight so that the time doesn’t slip away between his fingers. It doesn’t seem to feel right that he is getting paid for these final brightly colored hours instead of paying himself for getting to be a part of them at all.

Everything was changing, again, and it all scares the ever living fuck out of him.

Slipping his key into the lock is a practiced action. The key doesn’t require the extra jiggle inside the lock that it did when it had first been cut, the turn is smooth, and the door closes behind him with only a quiet thud. When you are always in some physical space, when it’s simply the normal and home, you don’t consciously recognize the ambient sounds and smells of the place. You’re just acclimated to the familiarity of it all. Your nose and ears stop registering what is around you as anything to take any conscious note of. Chris’ house doesn’t smell any certain way, but he realizes his own does. And that’s when he knows.

Chris is sitting on the floor with his back up against the couch and his computer balanced on his knees when Darren rounds the corner and into the room. 

“That took long enough. Thought I was going to die of starvation before you got here.” He sets the laptop aside without closing the lid, and folds his legs to push himself up from the floor. He reaches and takes the plastic bag containing their dinner from Darren’s hand where it hangs down by his side, opening it to peer inside as if he had suddenly developed some sort of x-ray vision that allows him to see inside the white styrofoam containers to inspect the food inside. Glancing back up, he seems at all at once notice that the other man is uncharacteristically silent and, even more strangely, still. “What?”

What indeed. 

The words _I’m fucking **terrified** that not having an excuse to keep us superglued into one another’s personal orbits could mean that everything we’ve fought so hard for could slip away and I don’t want that, in fact I want the exact opposite of that and this is the place I want to be more than anywhere else…_ don’t exactly come rolling off his tongue, so instead Darren does what all men do when they can’t make any connection between their head, heart, and mouth. He becomes the dumbass that just shakes his head. 

Chris' eyes tighten, the corner of his mouth twitching in a way that means he is ready to argue about whatever it was he was in disagreement with. But before he gets a chance to voice any opposition, Darren steps around him and falls down like a sack of bricks into the chair across the room and props his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. He suddenly feels like the air around him is weighted, pressing and tight with the words that he needs to say but doesn’t really know how. It’s not that he thinks that Chris would have a problem with what he wants. There was a time when that definitely would have been the case, but they’re past that now. It’s more just knowing how to _say_ it.

Blue eyes scrutinize him from where Chris stands on the other side of the living room, careful and considering. Those eyes have always been able to peel back Darren’s skin and reveal whatever it is that is pinging around inside of his body like tiny out of control trains run completely off the tracks. He’s never been the hardest person to read, just ask his mother, and Chris is more skilled at reading than almost anyone else he knows. When the subject is one that he deems worth his time, that is. 

Darren just so happens to be fortunate enough to fall under that category. 

“Okay,” Chris covers the space between them with two long-legged strides, and proceeds to roughly knock Darren’s legs to the side and off the table, sitting himself down in their spot. “Two things. Number one, you forgot to wash all the shit out of your hair again, which you only ever do if something big is on your mind. And two, I want you to tell me what it is, but make it quick because I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m hungry.”

Darren lifts his head from where he’d let it fall back against the padded back of what he now considered to be his chair. “That’s three things, Colfer.”

Chris’ eye roll behind the lenses of his glasses is only partially amused by the deflection. More than Darren was hoping for if he’s being honest. 

_And in the name of honesty…_ “It’s like now that the first of all the goodbyes have commenced, they’re never going to stop. It feels like the next week will be nothing but one neverending series of doors closing and it’s just… it sucks,” he explains needlessly with a fatigued shrug of his shoulders. It isn’t like Chris isn’t right there along with him to watch their friends prepare to close such a huge chapter in all of their lives. 

Chris nods at his explanation taking Darren’s words for the truth that they were, and proceeds to begin digging through the bag again. 

Darren takes an unsteady breath and goes on. “And it’s got me thinking about all the shit that is about to happen and how we’ll have so much going on and-” Another breath, “And before all that happens, I want to be living here with you.”

Chris freezes with his fingers still in the process of tearing open a plastic sauce packet to pour over the plate of mostly cold fried rice and chicken on his lap. His face is surprised by Darren’s words and his mouth hangs open around that breath he was taking when the comment registered in his mind. His posture changes, subtle but noticeable to Darren as he straightens his shoulders and back, shifting away from him by inches. “You have lived here for months, Dare.”

It’s true, and it isn’t. Since that first afternoon, since before he’d shown up on Chris’ doorstep screaming out for someone to see and hear and _know_ him, he has spent far more nights here in Chris’ house than he has staying in his own place across town. That place had never registered as home to him, and he found he didn’t miss it in the least, preferring to spend even the nights when Chris was travelling separately here with Brian and the dog rather than alone among all things that he’d bought and rarely ever touched. His home wasn’t some specific, concrete, physical place to him. The word applied to his parent’s place back in San Francisco, a small townhouse apartment halfway across the planet, the way it feels to take a first breath of city air when he steps out of the sliding glass airport doors in New York, and the sound of a freshly tuned acoustic guitar string. But more than any of that, home was wherever he was with the man sitting across from him watching Darren’s face with suddenly cloudy, green-gray eyes. He has his own house, a place registered in his own name, bought with his own money, and the place where his mail arrives. 

But here with Chris? That’s where he _lives_. It’s where Darren lives, and loves, and knows his soul will be longing for in the months when he is away from L.A. This is where he is always going to want to come back to at the end of whatever road he is going to go down.

“No, I don’t. I stay here with you and that’s different. I want it to be an official thing that we’re choosing to do. I think it’s time for that. Don’t you? I’m mean, I’m asking what you think about that.”

Now it’s Chris’ turn to move as if in slow motion. He takes the styrofoam container from his knees and slowly places it behind him on the coffee table. Darren’s eyes flash to the corner of the room where Cooper is suddenly very interested in their doings for the first time, even lifting his head from the floor. _Don’t even think about it._

Chris purses his lips into a thin line. Darren has always wanted to know what is going on inside this man’s head, but he has resigned himself to the fact that whatever secrets live inside that complicated, lightning-fast mind…it’s a language he just doesn’t speak. Chris will have to tell him what he is thinking, whatever parts of it that he will, and that has to be enough for him. 

When Chris eyes meet Darren’s anxious ones again, it’s affection and amusement that light them from within. “You’re asking me if I’m okay with you doing something that I already thought you’ve been doing for six months?”

Well when he puts it that way…

“Pretty much.”

Chris snorts loudly and snatches the abandoned bag containing Darren’s own dinner up from off of the floor. “You’re such an idiot. I’m heating all this up.” He shakes his head as he turns and heads in the direction of the kitchen. “And go wash your goddamn hair!” 

_Yes, sir._

\----

Sex is a messy. Sex with Darren is always an especially messy business. The man just never stops _moving_. But that is what top sheets were invented for, to yank and bunch them up underneath one’s body to at least give some thin illusion that you’re not laying in a wet spot. 

Right now Darren is perfectly still, rolled onto his side away from him. Chris finds his fingers playing with the smooth, rapidly cooling skin of Darren’s upper arm without his mind consciously giving them any permission to do so. His fingernails catch and scratch against a scattered few of the wiry curls of dark hair that grow across his lover’s body. It shocks through his hazy mind like an electrical zap when he realizes how soon all of this hair will be waxed away and gone again, more so than ever before. The thought seems to force his mind further awake. He briefly wonders how long he should allow Darren to go on pretending to be asleep. Chris can tell by the perfectly even and controlled measure of his breathing and the unnatural stillness of his body that it’s an act. Darren completely at ease and dreaming is something that he knows better than his own face.

He never directly answered Darren's question. If it even was a question. The thought of Darren’s living here with him is a strange one because even though it genuinely does feel that Darren already has come to take up almost too much space in his everyday world, he knows the symbolism of it all still bears weight. It means something. Another shift and change that goes beyond where Darren stores all his old vinyl albums and out of season jackets. And then if things went bad again…

 _No._ He shuts the instinctual urge down as soon as it starts. It’s way too late to worry about what might be’s. He doesn’t know what the future is going to look like for either of them, no one does. Just like he couldn’t ever begin to untangle the knotted up strings of what they have been to each other in the past from who they’ve come to be in the last year, whatever lies ahead of him will see Chris connected to Darren in some way. He’s accepted that. This stupid, overgrown child, mess of a beautiful beautiful man is a part of him and always will be. It’s one of the only truths that he feels like he can trust in a world primarily made up of lies and secrets.

The changes coming are big, fast moving and jarring, one after another for the span of the foreseeable future. But no matter where he is and when, Chris can count on a few constants. His first Diet Coke of the morning will always taste the best. Calling his sister will put a smile on his face no matter what kind of shit day he is having. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. And Darren. In some way, in some capacity, Darren. 

“You are lugging around whatever other crap you want to bring over here.”

Darren will have the lights of New York, and his dreams that expand and change so fast it makes Chris breathless to even think about for too long. He will have his noisy, obnoxious friends that Chris will never quite fit in with, and crowds of people to charm night after night. He will have fresh bagels and beer, and fishnet stockings. (Something that Chris fully intends on seeing for himself at some point before he has to leave for London.)

But Chris will have Bayswater. He will have bright blue painted doors, and fairy tale fountains where there are cracked stone princes. He will have walls that are so saturated with the memories of touch and taste of what the two of them have become, that it will ease the sting of the coming months. Just like Darren has given him, just like they planned.

If Darren needs this, this assuredity as something tangible to be his touchstone...Well, he'd be a real ass to deny him that much. Chris doesn’t have to understand something to know Darren needs it or to want him to have it.

That’s a lesson that has taken a lot of time to learn. 

There is enough light coming in around the window blinds for Chris to see Darren’s cheek rise when he smiles although he doesn’t turn back around.. “Oh, I am?’

“Yeah, we both know I’m not big on manual labor.” Chris can feel the vibration through the mattress when this draws a quiet chuckle deep from within Darren’s chest. 

“Guess it’s good that you have people you pay to do that sort of - _Chris, fuck_! Um... ow?” Darren jerks his leg up closer to his own chest to rub it with his hand after Chris digs his toenails into the other man’s calf. He huffs and rolls over onto his back to lay flat, turning his face to look back at Chris. “I might be changing my mind if you keep scratching me, fucker.“

He leans over and presses his lips to the smirking ones beneath him. He doesn’t want to start anything, again, but Chris just feels the need to taste the smile that comes more from Darren’s eyes than his mouth in the dark room.

“Sure you will.”

There are promises that they can not make. When everything changes so much, so far, so fast, then who knows where they will be in a year, or five, or twenty-eight. Hell, a lot of the time it is hard to keep track of where they will both be in three days. But for now they are here, and it’s not a bad place to be. 


End file.
